Heart Is Black
by mermaidstear
Summary: Dagny is a family slave who has grown up with Ragnar's sons. Once freed, she joins the Great Heathen Army alongside them.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all! So if you follow me on Tumblr, you probably knew this was coming. I have been obsessed with Vikings for a long time and I've really enjoyed this half-season. And I'll admit I've gone back and forth on posting this because I am the absolute worst at updating and I also don't feel like it's all that good (third person is out of my comfort zone, I used to write in it all the time but I just got out of practice so I'm insecure about it). But I decided to bite the bullet and post it anyway. I was just writing for myself but I figured, hey, maybe someone else can get something out of it too. I'm open to suggestions about things, your thoughts, where you think things ought to go, perspectives you want to see, etc. Well, at any rate, thanks for reading at all. It means a lot to me. Dagny might be a little naïve at first but we aren't all born shieldmaidens, lol. She's got to learn. And also nothing really happens at all in this intro chapter but it's just because I thought it was getting long. So thanks for listening to me ramble on and I'll get on with it. Thank you!**

Dagny's earliest memory was standing in a line with others stolen from their homelands, stolen from their families. The ground was frozen beneath their feet and not a one of them wore anything that could stand the cold. Dagny's feet had almost been bare, wrapped in the thinnest of cloths, and she curled over on herself to keep her hands close to her body. Dagny couldn't remember a time she'd been colder. Since then, she always slept in a room with other slaves and on particularly cold nights, they would share beds for warmth. Dagny, waiting to be bid on and knowing she wasn't worth much, could not comprehend the thought of being warm that winter's day.

None of the slaves immediately understood the importance of the woman who came and looked at each one of them, as if she might unearth their deepest desires just by casting her eyes upon them. She stopped in front of Dagny, no more than six years at the time. She was small and sickly from the boat ride there, not at all the image of a slave a queen would want. But Aslaug tipped the girl's chin up and smiled at her. All Dagny could think was that Aslaug's cheeks were rosy with life and that her deep blue cloak was capped with fur. What she would have done for fur. When the queen pulled her hand back, she pulled open her cloak and said something, something Dagny knew the meaning of even if she couldn't understand it. Dagny rushed beneath the fabric and Aslaug paid the slaver a single silver coin with a hole through the middle. She wasn't worth more than that.

She couldn't remember anything from life before being a slave. Dagny wasn't even her name from before. It was the name Aslaug gave her that winter day, amidst many suggestions from her sons. Dagny learned their language and forgot her own. She could mend any shirt or armor, gather herbs and forage, heal many ailments. She was an excellent slave and she knew she was Aslaug's favorite. But being the favorite of the queen did not spare her from work.

There was to be a feast in honor of Bjorn Ironside's raid and thus, there was much to be done. Dagny piled laundry into a large basket and lamented the fact that her closest friend, Asdis, wasn't there. She was, no doubt, going back and forth with her small bucket to fill the washing tub with water. Dagny stood back and debated the best way to drag the basket all the way to Frida's cabin. She grabbed a side and dejected, began to pull.

Suddenly, the weight on her arm gave way and she flinched. Dagny turned to see Ubbe cradling the basket, as if it were filled with feathers. He grinned, a most charming thing. Dagny cursed the warmth in her chest it made her feel. His smile won him favoritism from Asdis and the other girls but his kindness had won it from Dagny.

"You are going to-" He rumpled his handsome brow.

"Frida's," Dagny replied.

He nodded. "Frida's." Ubbe could not remember many names but Dagny had grown up alongside Ubbe and his brothers. She was almost more friend than servant to them.

"You do not have to help me," she murmured. Ubbe scoffed and walked past her, leaving only a view of the braid down his back.

Ubbe was well-liked among the slaves for a variety of reasons. Foremost among those was that he was handsome. His eyes were clear and blue, his skin was smooth, and he had an utterly disarming smile. Dagny always equated Ubbe with a home and hearth, simple love and simple pleasures. All the things she secretly wanted.

But he was still a man and he was also liked because of the way he'd ask the slave girls to bed him. Asdis said most men in Kattegat just took the girls, whether they wanted it or not, but Ubbe would _ask._ It only added to the perception of him as a prince out of the stories, one that might eventually free you from bondage and make you a princess. Dagny always thought that Ubbe was praised for simply being a decent person and she doubted any woman he posed the question to would dare tell him no. From the stories or not, he was still a true prince, still a son of Ragnar Lothbrok, and if he wanted something, Dagny had no doubt he was given it.

He had never asked Dagny and she wasn't sure if she was grateful for it or forlorn.

Dagny stopped Ubbe outside of Frida's and told him to let her take in the laundry. Even outside, she could tell that the sons of Ragnar were the topic of discussion in Frida's hut.

"They will faint and fawn if they see you helping me," Dagny said. Ubbe's lips parted in a grin and the wind tousled his hair. Something clawed at Dagny's stomach, down deep.

"But you never do," he responded and gave her the basket. She wanted to buckle beneath its weight.

Dagny let herself smile over the pile of tunics and pants. She knew it was the worst kind of foolish but Ubbe had always seemed like he might be her real friend. He was teasing and helpful and could make her laugh. "You just do not pay attention. But thank you, Ubbe."

"You are most welcome, Dagny." He was smiling again, so kind and lovely.

She saw him contemplate grabbing the basket from her and taking it in anyway. But she turned and quickly entered Frida's. As expected from the scraps of conversation she'd overheard outside, Asdis and the others were debating the handsomest of the brothers, a favorite pastime for them. Dagny ignored their voices and set to putting the clothes in the water. Others immediately began pushing them down and picking particularly dirty pieces to scrub. Asdis poured her last bucket of water into the tub, some sloshing over the side onto her feet. She grimaced.

"Obviously, it is Ubbe," Frida declared, almost wearing a hole in the tunic in her hands. Everyone liked him and Dagny thought most of the slave girls were half in love with him, herself included.

"Yes, he is," Dotta agreed. Dagny just threw in more laundry.

"Margrethe is lucky," Asdis decided, wiping her brow. No one disagreed, even knowing that she was as much a slave as they were and was bound to do as she was told.

Margrethe was the newest so it surprised Dagny little that she had caught Ubbe's eye. Asdis thought she'd been with Sigurd as well but no one had confirmed it. She and Dotta were particularly jealous of Margrethe but it bothered Dagny little. To Aslaug's sons, she was something novel when they'd had the opportunity to have any of the other slaves that they wanted for the past few months at least. Margrethe was also beautiful, with a crown of almost silver hair and lovely features. Dagny's hair was black. Her nose was small. Her skin was pale enough to be mistaken for sickness. No matter how she tried to spare her hands, they were rough and Margrethe had been chosen to serve in the royal household immediately, sparing her skin the rough life Dagny's had lived. It was easy to see why Ubbe and Sigurd were taken with her.

"No, no, it is Sigurd," Dotta said, immediately moving on from Margrethe. The others laughed. Apparently, Sigurd had once taken her into the forest and kissed her on a bed of flowers. She wasn't like to let anyone forget it.

"We _know_ what you think about Sigurd," Asdis teased and Dotta splashed her. Dagny tried not to smile.

"Yes, will we never hear the end of the tale of Sigurd and Dotta in the forest?" Frida said, pulling a pair of pants from the vat and going to hang them on the line.

"It is a good tale," Dagny admitted, pulling a red dress of Aslaug's to her. It was the one the queen had told her she'd wear to the feast before Bjorn and Hvitserk's journey to some far off land at the Mediterranean Sea. Hvitserk had been bragging to Dagny about his first raid only a few days ago, talking about all the things he might see and do. It made Dagny smile. Everything about Hvitserk made her smile.

"Thank you, Dagny," Dotta replied. "And what is your opinion?"

"I don't have an opinion," Dagny lied, pushing her dark hair behind her shoulders. Water crept up the sleeves of her blue dress. With a sigh, she relegated herself to the fact that she would have to change before helping Margrethe serve dinner.

Asdis scoffed so Dagny looked up from her washing. "You only say that because in the next few days, we will be hearing the tale of you and Hvitserk in the forest," Asdis said. Dagny's cheeks colored while the others laughed.

"I doubt that. He will be looking forward to the women on raid, not some girl who's served his family her whole life."

"Don't be bleak, Dagny. He favors you." Dagny wanted to pretend that he didn't. Dagny was a slave, no matter how Aslaug often treated her like she wasn't one. She was foreign and small and her hands were rough. She knew she wasn't as pretty as Margrethe or Asdis. But none of it had ever stopped Hvitserk from showing her attention. Not long ago, he'd helped her gather herbs for Aslaug when he should have been training and as he tucked them into her belt, he bent forward and pressed his lips to Dagny's cheek and her sharp jawline and the skin of her throat. He only stopped because Ubbe came looking for him and Dagny had heard him tell Hvitserk that she was a person, worthy of respect, that he should ask her. She managed to crush every single herb she'd picked on her way back to Aslaug.

He was gathering nerve, that's what Asdis thought. Hvitserk was confident but he was also genuinely pleasant and Dagny hoped, heavy with naiveté, that she meant more to him than his normal conquests. She was conscious of the fact that they were not friends, could never be actual friends, but just as with Ubbe, she thought they might be all the same. She was closer to Hvitserk than she was any non-slave who was not Aslaug. They were alike in age and temperament. He was agreeable and good-looking and simple things could make him laugh. Dagny liked him and liked him a great deal, if she was to be honest. But she didn't love him. When she saw the way Dotta's expression curled into dreaminess at the thought of Sigurd, she was grateful for it. But love or not, it was still foregone that Hvitserk would ask her soon and Dagny was prepared for it.

"Yes, well, he is lovely and friendly and I've known him most of my life," Dagny said. Asdis scoffed again.

"Such words of romance."

"What should I say, Asdis?" Dagny muttered. "Words I don't mean?"

"I just believe that if you avoid him any longer, Margrethe will quickly take your place." Dotta and Frida exchanged a knowing look, one that said Dotta knew she'd been pushed aside in favor of Margrethe. Dagny just felt a chill, a creeping cold that made the water on her hands feel warm. She'd had a dream about Hvitserk and Margrethe the night before, an oddly vivid dream.

"He has no interest in Margrethe." Dagny sounded confident but didn't feel it. Asdis shrugged but smiled. She was only teasing.

"So you consider Hvitserk to be the handsomest?" Dotta asked.

"No," Dagny admitted. "I think that is Ivar." Each of the others froze, a curious expression on their faces.

Asdis slung a sopping wet tunic over the line and said, "Surely you must be joking."

"He's crippled," Dotta mentioned, her face a sneer of repugnance. Dagny clenched her jaw and brought Aslaug's dress out of the water, not caring that it splattered across Dotta's new tunic.

"Don't be cruel, Dotta," she replied. "You asked if he was handsome, not if he could walk."

"How can she possibly be cruel to him? He is spiteful to everyone," Frida said, as if that had any bearing on the boy's looks or Dotta's own unkindness.

"It is cruel because he deals with enough hardship." Dagny turned her back to put Aslaug's dress on the line. She had to stand on the balls of her feet to hang it. Ivar was mean and callous and he always thought there was an ulterior motive for any kindness shown him. But Dagny liked his eyes and his intelligence and the way he would sometimes flinch at a touch. She had a gift for healing and was often in his company. Though he used to act like it was a waste of precious time to be there, Ivar was now frequently at Dagny's, sometimes for ailments she couldn't even see. He would never admit it but she knew he'd warmed to her. She thought they were, if nothing else, allies.

Dotta narrowed her blue eyes. "You _favor_ him." Her tone was more accusation than discovery.

"That is ridiculous, Dotta. I favor no one." Dagny kept her back turned and pretended to straighten Aslaug's dress on the line to hide her reddening face. "You wanted my opinion and now you have it."

Asdis, for it could only be Asdis, came and grabbed Dagny by the arm. She had a smirk on her face. "Shall I go find him, Dagny? He's just a cripple. I'm sure he would be happy to be with any woman." The color leeched from Dagny's face as Frida and Dotta shared in Asdis's laughter.

"He's more than 'just a cripple,'" Dagny stated, "and I'm sure he can have anyone he wants, just like his brothers." Dagny's dark eyes caught Dotta's. Even though she felt pity for Dotta and how Sigurd had apparently brushed her aside for Margrethe, Dagny did not care for anyone who might demean Ivar for being a cripple.

The laundry was cleaned quickly and quietly after that but Dagny knew it wouldn't be the last she'd hear of it. She wished she'd said nothing, that she'd kept quiet. It was a stupid thing to care about and she felt foolish for admitting anything to them. But still, she found it a great shame that others could ignore Ivar's weapon of a mind in favor of his legs and his cruelty.

Dotta, Asdis, and Frida had other chores so Dagny left to prepare for serving dinner. Once outside of Frida's, she let out a breath.

"Dagny." She turned at the voice, flinched. It was Ivar, coming from the strip of land behind Frida's cottage, wearing a look that said he'd heard every word she'd spoken in favor of him. Dagny knew he listened, that he crept around and heard conversations that he had no right hearing. People did not pay close enough attention.

"Ivar," she replied as her nails dug into the palm of her hand. She smiled at him anyway. He'd once snarled at her that she smiled too much. She remembered it every time she saw him.

"I have been looking for you."

"Does your wrist still hurt?" He tucked his chin to his chest; not even a nod and the closest to affirmation she'd get. She glanced down and saw the bandaging she'd put on his right wrist was still in place. But the ointment had probably worn off. "Come with me."

Dagny once found it remarkable that Ivar was able to keep up since he had to crawl rather than walk. The one time she'd waited for him, he beat her to she and Asdis's cabin. He laughed at her for being too nice.

He was the silent the entire journey there, which Dagny found unusual. It simply confirmed that he had heard her at Frida's, had heard every word they'd spoken. She expected him to gloat and grin but instead, he did nothing. He was the same as always, irritated and put out.

Dagny pulled open the door to her and Asdis's one room cabin. It creaked and she rolled her eyes. The door made noise and let in the cold and it would apparently never be fixed. Ivar crawled in behind her.

"I can see that you aren't easing up on your wrist," Dagny said, shutting the door behind him. He slouched against Dagny's bed and shrugged with a grin. Ivar had absurdly blue eyes and short dark hair and a smirk that said he'd taken your worth and found you wanting.

"It is how I get around," he responded.

"But if you hurt your wrist more, it may be so damaged that even _I_ can't fix it." He laughed, an unnaturally happy sound.

" _You_ can fix anything," he declared. The corners of her mouth turned up. He gave praise only occasionally and Dagny liked it more each time.

Dagny rummaged through her things until she found the ointment and new bandages. She sat down on the floor beside him. It was hard and made her already hurting back ache. She wondered how Ivar took it.

He fumbled with the leather brace on his right hand until Dagny finally shooed his hand away and untied it herself. Though he often pretended to be irritated by it, like he was now, Dagny always thought he liked to be babied. She slowly unwound the bandage she placed on his wrist just yesterday. His fingers quivered and she caught a glimpse of his face. Normally he would grimace but today, he just looked back at her.

She tossed the old bandage behind her and took a skeptical look at his wrist. He'd twisted it the wrong way and she hoped he didn't manage to splinter the bone. But it felt strong, not broken at all. She put pressure on it and he didn't wince.

"If anything hurts, tell me," she said. He gave her a real nod.

Dagny took some ointment and ran it along the length of his forearm and down to the knuckles of his hand. It made his skin slick and smooth. She did it slowly, so slowly, that she knew it must be driving him mad. Ivar sucked in a breath and she looked up.

"I'm sorry," she immediately apologized. His expression was, oddly enough, wary. She might have even dared to call him nervous.

"No-" he started. "You didn't hurt me." She nodded and grabbed her new bandages. She pressed the end of the cloth down and began to wind the rest tightly down his wrist. "Where are you from?" She paused. "What were you before my mother bought you?"

"I was an English princess," Dagny replied before she could think better of it.

"Really?" He laughed again and it felt like the time she accidentally fell into a pond and Ubbe had saved her. Ice and loss of breath and chest pain. Gods help her, it was just like drowning.

"No," she admitted. "I don't remember anything before your mother."

"Neither do I." That made her smile.

She finished wrapping his wrist and grabbed his brace. Hair black as oil slid over her shoulder and his good hand quickly pushed it back. She managed to tie the brace wrong and had to start over. When it was finally done, he thanked her, actually _thanked_ her and left.

When the door shut behind him, Dagny let out a breath. "I'm in trouble," she realized, the kind of trouble that came from wanting something you knew was no good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! First of all, thank you so much for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews. That means so much to me. Thank you! But to get on with it. So I've kind of tweaked the timeline a bit. I hope you don't mind! And again, I didn't have much happen because again, I felt like I was longwinded. But thank you for reading. I only own Dagny.**

At one time, Ivar did not like Dagny. Sometimes he tried not to like her now. He did not find her stupid, condescending smile charming or her muddy hazel eyes attractive. He did not like her long dark hair and he especially did not like it at the feasts, when she'd wear a crown of flowers and thistles. And he _hated_ when she touched him, when she'd take an agonizingly long time to wrap an injury or accidentally brush his hand when she poured him a drink. Everything about her was specifically cultivated to annoy him. And the worst part about it was that he wasn't annoyed at all.

She also struck him as genuine. What originally came across as the same haughty and better-than-a-cripple attitude as most others had been revealed as just the girl's quiet temperament. She used to never speak unless asked a direct question and where most slaves averted eye contact, she would just stare. _She's just like everyone else,_ Ivar thought. Even a slave girl thought she was better than him. But then she'd become an excellent healer and he'd been forced into her company. It was going to be awful, to spend time with someone who thought herself his better. But Dagny, though quiet, never treated him lesser or as if she was scared. He figured out that her voice was small and she was shy. She wasn't an arrogant girl and nor did she seem particularly soft.

Still, Dagny smiled too often and she laughed at most anything Hvitserk said. And what did she have to laugh or smile about? She was a slave. She belonged to Ivar's family. He chose to ignore that perhaps her happiness irritated him because it was often spurred by Hvitserk. Hvitserk, who was frequently in the company of Ivar's brothers' favorite, the slave Margrethe. Either Dagny had not noticed or she simply didn't care.

For someone who struck him as intelligent, Ivar assumed she must not know.

He sat on the shore bank while Hvitserk, Ubbe, and Sigurd fished. Dagny was collecting their catches in a basket. Hvitserk had managed to lure her knee-deep in the water. She didn't seem to care that her shoes and dress were soaked. She laughed when Hvitserk splashed her and chased her about with the fish he'd just caught. She tripped and Hvitserk grabbed her before she could hit the water. Even from this distance, Ivar noticed how his fingers curled around her arm and how his hand snaked around her back.

Dagny dropped her basket on the sand beside him not long after. Ivar glanced up at her and he saw that look on her face, the expression people sometimes wore when they saw him. It was pity. He grimaced at her but she sat down with him anyway. She always did that whenever Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd were doing something he couldn't. He hated her for it. But he clenched his jaw because he liked her for it too.

"Tie my legs," he said, so that she'd stop watching him with her hawkish eyes. Tying his legs together made it easier to get around and move them.

Dagny pushed her basket away and crouched on her knees in the sand. She slid a strap of leather beneath his knees and started to knot it tightly. He watched her fingers. She had nice hands.

"Hvitserk is bedding Margrethe," Ivar said. Dagny cut her eyes and paled. Ivar's hand balled into a fist in the sand.

"He can do as he wishes," she responded. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Don't you like him?"

"Yes, I like him. We are… friends."

Ivar scoffed and he saw her stiffen. "You can never be friends."

"I know," she murmured. "I just have no other word for it."

He wasn't going to apologize to her, even if he liked how casually she rested her hand on his leg or the naïve hurt on her face. "He'll make a fool of you, Dagny."

"Do you care?" she whispered. He pursed his lips because he most certainly did not care and he didn't know why he'd bothered to tell her. Her gaze flicked to his mouth.

"You're always staring at me," Ivar muttered, changing the subject. Dagny froze. She heard the accusation in his voice. "Why?" he demanded, as if she hadn't just recently admitted it in his hearing. She shook her head and his hand caught her chin. She didn't flinch and he admired her for it. "I asked you a question. Why?"

"I think you know it is because I find you handsome," she replied. He already knew it but still. _Handsome._ Ivar let himself savor the word. She thought him handsome. It was a foolish word with no meaning and yet it burned through him all the same.

When he dropped his hand, his thumb grazed her bottom lip and he tried to ignore that it made his skin prickle. Color crept up her neck and she stood just in time to narrowly miss being hit by Sigurd's fish. He chuckled and picked it up so that Dagny didn't have to. Sigurd patted her on the shoulder before she left with her basket and Ivar wondered if people had always casually touched her that way or if he'd only begun noticing it recently.

No, he knew he'd always taken notice of it and just ignored it because she was a slave and he didn't much like her anyway. But he liked her now. He had to admit that he'd liked her even when he thought she was proud. Before she'd grown tall and lovely. Before she'd admitted she found him handsomer than his brothers.

And from the way Sigurd smirked, he knew that Ivar liked her too.

* * *

Dagny walked farther into the forest, avoiding roots in the path and carefully observing. She was there to gather a few much-needed herbs and other plants. She was running low on so many items and had a feeling, a strange and fierce feeling, that she'd need these things soon. But that gut instinct paled in comparison to her immense folly with Ivar earlier.

She belonged to his family and what she said had been so massively inappropriate that she couldn't believe she'd come out with it. And what was worse had been the look on his face. The wide-eyed sort of shock that came from hearing something you never thought you would. It was like swallowing glass, to see that sort of disbelief. It was a shame, such a shame, that that was his reaction. So Dagny couldn't bring herself to feel that badly about it, despite how tactless it felt and how embarrassed she was.

The way he'd warned her away from Hvitserk had also seemed to hinge on that overheard conversation between her and the other slaves. Would he have cared enough to say anything if he didn't know that she admired him? Or were they the tentative friends she hoped they were? Though she doubted Ivar was lying, she just didn't think that Hvitserk and Margrethe were anything to one another, not even a tryst. She seemed to favor the other brothers, like Sigurd and Ubbe, and Hvitserk had always seemed to favor Dagny. Not that that meant anything, she supposed. She told herself to stop thinking about any of Aslaug's sons and complete her work for the day.

Dagny bent to pluck a few pieces of aloe and heard the rustle of leaves in the clearing beyond. It was concern that made her follow the sound, though she was certain it was just Ubbe or the others training. When she reached the hooded edge of the clearing, Dagny froze. It felt as if someone had dumped snow down the back of her dress.

Hvitserk wound his fingers through Margrethe's silver hair and covered her mouth with his own. It was so stark and hungry that she wondered how Margrethe could catch her breath. Dagny made herself move back into the line of trees but couldn't keep her eyes off the way Margrethe gathered her skirt or how her sleeve fell off her shoulder just in time for Hvitserk to kiss it. It was so like the dream she'd had that Dagny almost thought herself similar to Aslaug; prophetic. Margrethe giggled and slid down into the tall grasses, Hvitserk following closely. Dagny didn't realize she was out of breath or that her heart was pounding until she was walking back down the path to Kattegat.

Perhaps, she cared a bit more for Hvitserk than she originally thought because something snarled in the depths of her stomach and made her cold as ice. Jealousy. The feeling that tore through Asdis and Dotta as they were pushed aside in favor of the newer and prettier Margrethe. At least Asdis and Dotta had had their time but Dagny could not help feeling dejected that she'd never even had the opportunity. She was owed nothing, she _was_ a slave, but being with Hvitserk had been one of the few things in life she was certain of. Maybe she didn't love him but he was pleasant and affable and he had always been so kind to her. She thought of his hands on her waist this morning, of how he'd grinned at her, of how he had trailed kisses down her neck that day a few weeks ago. Why hadn't he asked her? What had changed, if anything?

They were close to friends, weren't they? But Dagny's heart sank at how Ivar had cocked his head to the side, as if she were the most naïve person he'd ever met, when she suggested that she was friends with Hvitserk. "You can never be friends." Even though he was right and she knew it, it had hurt all the same. She shouldn't like any of them. They owned her. But they'd never been truly cruel and she had been the favorite of them all at one point. Dagny liked Aslaug and every single one of her sons. Even Sigurd, who was sometimes unkind to Ivar. Even Ivar, especially Ivar, who was mean to everyone.

In the next instant, Dagny was on the ground and pulled into the undergrowth of the forest. She struggled and kicked until she realized that Ivar was the one who tripped her. His hand covered her mouth. "It's all right. Calm down," he murmured. She did, even when he pulled her closer and out of sight of the path. Her back hit his chest and his mouth was so close to her throat. Too close. She wanted to demand what he thought he was doing, even if she could be punished for it. But then she saw Hvitserk and Margrethe walk down the path back to Kattegat and realized that Ivar had just spared her from a conversation she certainly did not want to have.

Even when they must have been already back in town, Dagny couldn't bring herself to move and she supposed Ivar could not either, as his breath was still hot on the back of her neck and an arm was still around her waist. Finally, Dagny shifted and Ivar released her. It was like shedding a warm and safe cloak and stepping back into the real world. So she stayed lying on the ground beside him and said, "Thank you." She could not see him but from the rustle of leaves beside her, she assumed he shrugged.

They laid prostrate alongside each other, on their backs and Dagny fought every instinct in her body that told her to look at him. She kept her gaze on the dark branches of trees above her and tried not to think of Margrethe and Hvitserk or her dream about them or how she'd said to Ivar's face that she found him handsome just hours ago. But Ivar shifted and the back of his hand brushed her knuckles so she turned her head.

"Are you jealous, Dagny?" he murmured.

"No." But the word was said through her teeth and she saw Ivar's full mouth curve into a smirk. It was lovely, unspeakably lovely, and gods, was she grateful that he hadn't been the one in Margrethe's thrall. "Why aren't you laughing at me? Why aren't you gloating? After all that you've heard, after what I told you? After-" she asked and gestured with a hand at the path, which seemed so far away, "this?"

There was a long pause, where Dagny could only hear the pounding of her heart and the song of the birds above them. "I don't know," he admitted. Ivar turned and propped himself up to look down at her. She didn't move because he so rarely got to look down at anyone. "I must feel for you the way you do for me." She froze, so like a rabbit in front of a fox. The smile dropped from his handsome face. "Pity."

"I do not pity you!" she said, even as she knew it was sometimes a lie. He rolled his eyes. "I don't."

"You sat with me on the bank today. Why did you do that? Because I could not fish like the others."

"I did that because I like you," she muttered. He stared at her, blue eyes wide, and for a moment, she feared he'd kiss her. And if he kissed her, Dagny wasn't sure what she would do. She imagined it for just a moment and how her story would easily parallel Sigurd and Dotta's. But instead of wildflowers and greenery, Dagny was surrounded by dead leaves and darkness. Dirt was beneath her nails from digging for roots and herbs. Her hair was filled with foliage and grime smeared across Ivar's damnably perfect features. It would not be a kiss of the stories but a kiss of shadows and hunger and want.

"Well, I don't like you." She gave a wry smile because he looked away from her and because the slightest pink tinged his cheeks.

"That is all right." Ivar reached across her and Dagny again feared that he might touch her but he only pulled a leaf from the dark folds of her hair. She knew that she would look ragged and wild when she served dinner that evening. Dinner!

Dagny sat up, so abruptly that Ivar's eyes widened. "I have to go. I'll be late. I'm serving dinner tonight," she said, taking a hand and brushing the sleeves of her tattered dress.

"There is no rush," he replied. "I will tell them you were with me." Dagny cut her eyes at him and he had put on that cocky grin he was so fond of. It would lure people into thinking that he could have whatever and whoever he wanted and most likely, he already had.

"What will your mother think?" She meant that sometimes Margrethe fumbled serving, particularly on her own. But Ivar took it differently.

"You are my mother's favorite," he replied, as if that was explanation enough. "She will be pleased." Dagny must have appeared again as that rabbit before a fox because his eyes softened. She wasn't sure that she'd ever seen him do that. "But Margrethe often makes mistakes when Ubbe is around." He shifted back and gazed away from her. Maybe he was angry with her.

"I will be here tomorrow," she said before she could think better of it. "I have to collect flowers if I want to make a crown in time for the feast." He stiffened, as if making a flower crown personally offended him.

"And does that take you long?"

"Yes," she responded. "It is a long process and it may take me days."

He smiled and Dagny cursed herself for how her skin pricked in response. "Then I will see you tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi! So I have a bit of a longer chapter here today, I think. I hope you enjoy it. Again, thank you so much for all of the reviews, follows, and favorites! I really appreciate it. How did you all feel about the season finale? I thought it was so good! Again, thank you and I hope you enjoy this!**

"Would you like some more ale, Ubbe?" Dagny asked. He smiled and nodded. The moment she was near enough to him, he reached around her back. Dagny pretended she didn't notice it but part of her wondered if he was finally taking to her. Ubbe had seemingly courted all of the other slaves, even Dotta.

But when he pulled back, he was holding a pair of leaves, no doubt plucked from her hair. She tried not to look as embarrassed as she felt but he winked and she tripped when she moved to stand beside Margrethe. Margrethe grinned but quickly hid it. Dagny nudged her to make her laugh.

Serving dinner was usually a rather boring affair. It was pouring drinks and moving plates and standing aside, making no noise at all. But Dagny did enjoy listening to the conversation. Slaves were akin to decoration, rugs on the floor, and no one paid them mind when talking. Dagny got to hear so many interesting things in the course of a royal dinner that it could keep her sustained for a week.

Tonight, Aslaug and the princes were mostly discussing the return of Ragnar Lothbrok. Dagny had met him twice now and each time she was enamored with his charm and odd grace. He also did not treat her as a slave, not in the normal way of most. It was difficult to swallow her admiration of him, not to say that she knew all of his stories despite Kattegat's current opinion of him. He had an easy charisma that made him likable to Dagny. It was simple to see why everyone had been so taken with him.

But he was disliked for his long absence, around half of Dagny's lifetime. Even his sons seemed distant from him. She thought they just hid their feelings well because she would love to have a father return after 10 years. She would love to have a father at all. And she knew they must feel the same.

Sigurd gestured with his hand and Margrethe rushed past her. Dagny thought of poor Dotta. Beside him, Hvitserk did the same. Dagny didn't want him to smile at her or laugh but he did both and she couldn't help smiling back at him. Why was she disappointed anyway? He was a prince, he could do anything he wanted, and just because he had been with Margrethe did not mean that he didn't want Dagny. That senseless wish, that she was worth more than his normal trysts, still lingered in the back of her mind. His fingers brushed the back of her hand, too deliberately to ever be called an accident, and chills snaked up her arm. Her gaze flicked to Ivar, whose full mouth traced the edge of a goblet.

Margrethe stole most attention at the table, aside from Aslaug's. Dagny found Margrethe opportunistic, willing to do whatever it takes to better her own circumstances. She wanted to admire her for it, for the way she'd twisted Sigurd around her slender finger and got to forego the tedious work of the other slaves in order to entertain Aslaug's sons. In fact, Dagny wished she'd thought of it first. But when she thought of all that Margrethe did, possibly _endured_ , it wasn't so easy to admire or envy her.

When dinner was over, Margrethe left the cleaning up to Dagny and Asdis. Dagny could tell that it made Asdis unspeakably angry but what was to be done? If she was asked by one of the princes to leave, she had to do it. Asdis gathered dishes and managed to make so much noise that Dagny asked her to quiet down.

"Aren't you angry, Dagny?" Asdis asked, tossing dark blonde hair over her shoulder.

"What is there to be angry about, Asdis?" Dagny replied. "She's got to do as she's told, same as you or I."

"Why are we never told to do as she does? We are just as pretty, no doubt we are every bit as good as she is. I do not understand it."

"She is still new to them," Dagny said, cleaning off a plate. Asdis snagged a large piece of uneaten bread from it before it could fall into the animal trough. "They'll tire of her and then it will go back to the way it was."

"She's been with them all, hasn't she?" Asdis asked around her mouthful of bread.

"No," Dagny muttered. "I doubt she has."

"Has she been with Ivar?" Dagny's shoulders stiffened. Asdis broke the bread in half and gave her a piece.

"She can't have. We would know. He would brag to any and all who would listen."

"It's just not right. You and I are scrubbing dishes while she's kissing Ubbe in a stable." Dagny couldn't help laughing. Asdis arched an eyebrow but laughed too.

After she finished helping Asdis, Dagny assisted Aslaug in getting undressed. Dagny was rather tall so she was always called upon to dress and undress the queen. All she did was speak to Dagny about all manner of things, about her sons and Ragnar and the business of ruling Kattegat, and all she required was nodding in response. Aslaug, though a queen with legendary lineage, was always easy to please and she rarely asked anything of Dagny, aside from herbs and tinctures. Dagny had liked Aslaug from the moment she'd been bought and as she grew, she only admired her more. There was always talk from Sigurd, and sometimes Hvitserk, about Harbard and how Aslaug had so easily fallen under his thrall. Dagny remembered little to nothing of that time so she made no judgment. She only knew that life could have been much worse if she'd been bid on by someone else.

The next day came quickly, after a night of short and troubled sleep. Dagny's shoulders ached from carrying laundry and the basket of fish and stacks of dishes. She would need to have Asdis put some salve on them that night. But aside from the constant pain, which wasn't unusual in Dagny's life, she got through her morning work quickly. She hung many herbs up to dry, crushed a few into tinctures, mended the sleeve of one of Aslaug's gowns, and now she was at the market to buy a few things that Aslaug wanted before the feast in a few days. It wasn't the most tedious of days luckily, as Dagny was meant to help the queen herself prepare for the feast, unlike the others who were readying food and tables.

Dagny asked for a bolt of cloth and some furs and before she could put her coins on the merchant's table, Hvitserk had done it for her. He tugged on a thin braid in her hair and collected everything she bought before she could do it herself. Dagny pretended to be put out but only for a moment. She was truly grateful that she wouldn't have to lug them by herself back to the great hall.

They walked for a while without saying anything. It didn't bother Dagny because she was often quiet and Hvitserk could be as well. Sometimes he'd just sit with her when the others were training and they'd never speak but it was nice all the same. A comfortable silence that Dagny wasn't sure she'd have with anyone else. But today, she could only think of his mouth on Margrethe's skin and that in a few days, he would be gone. Raiding was an important season for Kattegat but sometimes, it felt long and Dagny knew that this year, it would feel particularly drawn out. Hvitserk had always been around and while she was genuinely happy for him, she thought she would miss him.

Eventually, they spoke about the feast and Hvitserk's anticipation of the Mediterranean and how he felt about Ragnar. As if summoned by the mention of his name, Dagny and Hvitserk saw the king. Hvitserk had just said how he wanted to go to England and had asked every son to go with him but Hvitserk was committed to Bjorn. Dagny thought there must be more to it than that. Yet, here Ragnar was, giving away gold and glory to get men to come with him.

"Is he giving away…" Dagny trailed off but Hvitserk finished her thought.

"His horde." Ragnar was ragged, older and clearly aching, but he still bore the charming and enigmatic signs of a handsome man. He shouldn't have needed to pay for people to join him, particularly the useless lot that surrounded him at this moment. Ubbe and Sigurd approached him, no doubt to salvage some of his pride. Dagny offered an arm to take her things in case Hvitserk wanted to join them but he shook his head.

"If I was Viking, I'd go with him," Dagny said. The sight of the king peddling his horde was enough to turn her stomach. The man was fading into myth and legend, yet he paid for raiders that were worth less than the worn shoes on her feet. It was painful and it was sad.

"You would, would you?" Hvitserk's voice told her that she hadn't just thought the words but said them. Dagny, pale and nerves strained, turned to him but Hvitserk didn't appear to think she was speaking above her station or out of turn. She should have known he wouldn't. "Dagny the healer, a shieldmaiden?"

He grinned and it managed to rake her skin. She shrugged and smiled back. She followed after him when he began walking again, sparing a slight glance towards the king. A man she'd heard about all of her life, who was intelligent and brave and whose greatest friend had been a slave he'd freed. She admired him. She wanted to be like him. A farmer who had made himself king. A slave who would make herself free. It seemed just as unlikely a jump to her as it must have to Ragnar all those years ago.

Hvitserk took the furs and cloth into the hall to the tailors without asking Dagny's opinion on it. As it felt nice to be helped, she didn't complain to him.

"You're a good man, Hvitserk," she said, grabbing a basket from the hall for collecting herbs and flowers for her crown.

"What a shame," he replied, tugging at another braid in her thick hair. "I strive so hard not to be."

She laughed and knew it was the reaction he'd been seeking because he gave her the most languid, lazy smile. His hand slid up her arm to land on her bare neck and it was like poison from a snake bite. Something thick and warm that slid through her veins, paralyzing her and betraying her body because she leaned into him. Part of her wanted him to close the distance between them. It would end Asdis's and the others' teasing. It would prove to Dagny that she hadn't been forgotten in favor of someone else. But when he dropped his hand, she was relieved. There was a difference between being prepared for something and not being nervous about it.

She left town for the forest. Once beyond the tree line of the woods, Dagny felt weight lift off her hurting shoulders. As a slave, she often felt like she didn't know what she wanted or what she liked because she didn't have the opportunity to know. But she knew that she loved the forest, that she loved greenery and shade and ancient trees, that she loved the way the path would soften the sound of her steps. She was sure of very few things but that she loved the forest was one of them.

When she reached her favorite meadow-like clearing, Ivar was there, sitting amidst tall grass and small white flowers. He seemed out of place, a thing of war amongst peace. And Dagny, though she'd all but invited him, hadn't expected the youngest prince to come. She wanted to ask how he knew about this meadow or precisely when she'd be there but Dagny thought the answer was clear.

"Hello, Ivar," Dagny said and he nodded to her.

"Hello, Dagny." He leaned back on his hands, a crooked smile on his lips.

"You seem in a good mood," she replied, bending down among the flowers. Dagny took a blunt knife to a patch of tiny white flowers. They came away easily and she laid them in the basket.

"I am to go with my father to England." Dagny's knife snagged on a particularly pretty piece of salvia. Miniscule purple petals fell over her hands. He cocked his head to the side and asked, "What do you think?"

He was expecting a particular answer, she was sure. Some variant of telling him that he shouldn't or that she didn't want him to. And Dagny did not want him to. But she thought of kind king Ragnar and his horde and the whole of Ivar's disappointing life. They were a pair. This was a last chance and a first chance to prove themselves. Ivar deserved the opportunity to show everyone wrong.

"I think you should go. I think you will thrive." At that, he tensed and Dagny wasn't sure if she'd made him angry.

"Do you simply tell me things you believe I want to hear?"

"Do you want me to tell you that I don't want you to go? That I find it too dangerous for you?" Ivar stayed tense, obviously anticipating the answer. "I do not want you to go and I think it will be dangerous." He took in a breath. "But I know you are brave and that Ragnar is king and that you need to do this."

"Why do I need to do this?"

She gestured at him, hand dirty and full of salvia. "Why do I need to say? People mock you. It is unfair and it is also foolish, when you are worth more than all the men on Ragnar's crew."

Ivar came to her, pulling his legs behind him. "And you, Dagny, are wedded to kindness and naiveté when it would serve you better to be cruel."

"I do not take that as criticism." He leaned toward her and his hand crept up to her throat. Dirt smeared across her pale cheek.

Ivar shrugged, as if maybe he didn't mean it as one. She wanted to take his face in her hands but she settled for resting her fingers on his chest. He dropped his hand and leaned back, as if he realized he was too close. It left her fingers dangling in the air.

The afternoon passed slowly with little conversation. Dagny's thoughts were consumed with Ivar going on raid. He more than likely didn't know how to swim. He'd never seen open sea. He'd never been in battle. It worried her, no matter how much Ivar needed to do it. She wondered about Aslaug. Everyone could pretend but it was plain that Aslaug favored Ivar above her other children.

Ivar only watched Dagny collect flowers and thistles for the crown. Dagny wondered if that was the entire point of him coming into the woods. She drew it out, made it take nearly the entire afternoon, and he never complained. It was unusual. He was treating her differently. Rather than his normal fake irritation, nothing she did appeared to bother him.

When her basket was overflowing and she became exhausted, Dagny sat down beside him. Ivar turned, appearing to have been waiting for this all day.

"If you weren't a slave, what would you be?" Ivar's voice was clear but his eyes were stormy, as if he were aching. Dagny knew that Ivar suffered constant pain. She could see it all over him, even though he never acted affected by it. Perhaps, when you had been that hurting that long, you became used to pain.

She picked up some flowers from her basket, beginning to weave them together, and pretended that this was a question she was asked every day. Sometimes Asdis and Dotta would talk about what their life was like before being captured and sometimes they would daydream about having that life again. Though Dagny wanted to be free, she gave little thought to it. If she did, it only came from seeing Ubbe and knowing that the types of things he wanted seemed to align with her own.

"I suppose I would still be a healer," she responded, though she had no idea whether that was viable or not. Ivar just looked at her.

"Not an English princess?" She smiled at him and shook her head. "Not a shieldmaiden?"

"I do not know how to fight."

He scoffed. "You can learn."

"Why ask me this?"

"Because I have known you most of my life and I still do not _know_ you." The expression on his face seemed to make it obvious; that he was genuinely curious about her answer. He could deny it all he wished but this was something that friends would do. Dagny desperately tried not to get her hopes up but the rest of the time was filled with questions. How much did she know about Ragnar? Had she given any thought to this or that? It was as if he was taking the time to get to know her. She knew it wouldn't last, not when England when was on the horizon, but it made her happy anyway. She called herself stupid and naïve because she knew the truth. But it did not matter.

Dagny liked him and it was a horrible, terrible thing because she was more than aware that she shouldn't. She knew Ivar to be cruel and vindictive and murderous but when he laughed, Dagny wanted to bottle the sound and get drunk on it.

* * *

Two days later, Ubbe approached Dagny after a particularly tense dinner. Aslaug had been the only one there who didn't seem to have her mind on other things. There was little talking. Ivar's shoulders curled in, a sure sign of anxiety. Hvitserk said little, but that wasn't unusual when food was involved. Dagny couldn't place what had them acting this way. Ivar and Hvitserk were due to leave in mere days. The feast was in two days. There were many things to be excited about but she conceded that there were also many reasons to be nervous.

Ubbe had waited until everyone was gone, even Asdis, before asking Dagny to walk with him. The entire silent walk to Kattegat's shore had Dagny's stomach in knots. She knew what Asdis would think this was about and what if it was? What if Ubbe was taking her down to the boats to ask her what he'd asked so many others? When he stopped at the shoreline, she swallowed her nerves and went to stand beside him.

"We are friends, aren't we?" Ubbe finally asked, his arms crossed over a lush green cloak. Dagny echoed him but felt just how ragged her brown cloak was in comparison to his.

"Are we?" Dagny responded. It was dark but she could still see when Ubbe gave her a crooked smile.

"Maybe you do not consider yourself my friend but I am yours." Dagny turned to look at him, with what felt like claws dragging down her stomach and clutching her heart. She'd always wanted someone to say that to her. Even Asdis hadn't.

"Do not make fun of me, Ubbe. Please." His lips parted and for a moment, he said nothing. There was only the sound of the water lapping at the shore and the stars above and Dagny once again felt as if she had stepped out onto a perilously thin sheet of ice.

"Why is that so difficult to believe?"

"You are a prince. I'm a slave. It is common sense. I am no more your friend than I am Hvitserk's or you are Margrethe's. We are not equal so we cannot be friends." Dagny fingered a hole in her cloak, tracing it with the tip of her finger.

"I think we can be." She knew it must be a well-laid trap constructed by one of the most handsome and skilled hunters she'd ever known but Dagny knew she would walk into it for the price of a few kind words. "I think we _are_."

She nodded. "Then we are… friends." She let herself savor the word. It slid over her like water. Dagny had always wanted a friend, one that wasn't there for her out of necessity, like Asdis and Dotta. Part of her wondered if Ubbe was simply getting her to warm to him, if he was intuitive enough to understand exactly what she wanted to hear. He wasn't a malicious or manipulative person but Dagny had been wrong many times before.

Ubbe smiled. It was so beguiling that Dagny wanted to apologize for thinking ill of him. "Friends are honest with each other, aren't they?" Dagny nodded, as if she was familiar with the concept of friendship beyond sharing a bed in the cold. "I want you to be honest with me, Dagny."

"I am always honest with you."

"Are you?" he questioned. "Or do you tell me things you know I want to hear?"

"Can't they be the same?" He laughed and alongside the sound of the water, it was almost bewitching.

"You're very clever. But to be real friends, we need to trust one another."

"I do trust you. I would trust you with my life." He paused, just watching her, the moonlight shining in his eyes. He must have found what she said to be truthful because he nodded, a weirdly solemn movement.

"That's an honor I don't deserve."

"You deserve many honors." Ubbe laughed again.

"See, now that was a lie." Dagny felt a smile tug at her lips. "Dagny, I understand that we are not the same. But it does not mean that we cannot be friends." Part of her thought that it did, that their unequal balance excluded anything like that. But she wanted it to be true.

"Why today?" she asked, suspicious. There was something to the set of his jaw that told her it was something more than charity or well-meaning. "You wait for me after dark, when your family has left, and take me to the sea. It is not something for friends." She could tell by the look on his handsome face that he registered the accusation. He took a step back from her.

"It is when we have secrets." Her skin felt icy cold and she couldn't be sure if it was the night air or her nerves. "I have made a decision, Dagny, in something that concerns you and I want to know if I have made a mistake."

"Something that concerns me?" Was it Hvitserk? Was it Aslaug? Was it freedom?

"Ivar cares for you, Dagny." She let out a breath, watched it take form in the air. "He thinks you favor him. Sigurd laughed when he heard that, as you can imagine. Hvitserk, predictably, did not pick a side but I know he thinks the same as Sigurd."

"And what do you think?" she muttered.

"I think I am not blind or foolish. For days, you have been in the woods with him. Ivar is your favorite." He arched a perfect brow, clearly prompting, so Dagny nodded.

"It's not-" He shook his head.

"I am glad, Dagny, for he has few who like him. I think you, me, and my mother are all."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what decision you've made."

"Ivar's never been with a woman before." Dagny's lips parted and her fingers balled in her old cloak. Is this what Ubbe had come to ask? A favor? If she wanted to bed a cripple and if she didn't, he would make some excuse? "He wanted to be with you."

"Yes," Dagny said. "That is fine. I will do it." He shook his head, his braid falling over his shoulder. "I am being honest, Ubbe. I will do it gladly."

"We talked about it, Sigurd, Hvitserk, and I. I made the call to have Margrethe do it tomorrow." Dagny stepped back, an odd mix of immense jealousy and betrayal storming within her. Margrethe had already usurped something Dagny thought she had earned in stealing Hvitserk's attentions but this was beyond it all. Margrethe didn't like Ivar. She had called him creepy and conniving and her fear was thinly veiled. She would be unkind to him. She would be unwilling, something that seemed to matter a great deal to Ubbe. But there must have been something in it for her or she would have found a way to thrust it upon Dagny. And this whole conversation, where Ubbe had wrapped Dagny around his finger and walked her into a trap like some willing prey for the price of kindness, all for him to hurt her. They were not equal and they most certainly were not friends.

"Margrethe fears him," Dagny muttered. "She's scared."

"Dagny, I made the choice for a reason."

"Because you have all had her? Because she is beautiful? Because she will please him better than I could?" Dagny hated herself for being hurt by it and for admitting that hurt so clearly. It was all foolish. She was no better than the others.

Ubbe shook his head yet again and took her by the shoulders. "No! It is not that and you are beautiful. You are so beautiful and patient and kind. It is not about that at all."

"And now _you_ are lying."

"I'll never lie to you." He paused, dropped his hands from her shoulders. It left her feeling exposed. "I made the choice because I don't think you've done this before. I don't believe you've ever been with a man. Have you?"

Dagny damned the color creeping into her cheeks. "No," she admitted. "I have been…"

"You have been what?" Ubbe looked at her expectantly and she supposed that she had promised to be honest with him.

"Lucky," she murmured. "I have been lucky, compared to others." Dagny had been the victim of drunken fumbling in the dark and clumsy kisses but it had never gone farther. She knew she was fortunate, incredibly so.

Ubbe stiffened, as if finally understanding something his privilege had blinded him to. "I'm sorry." She shrugged. It was a fact of the life she led. "If anyone touches you and you don't want them to, I ask that you tell me."

Dagny nodded because his tone was serious. "I will." And the whole situation became clear to her. "You chose Margrethe because she is experienced."

"Yes," he replied, relief clear in his voice.

"I understand," she said because in many ways, she did. Dagny knew little to nothing about this, it was partially why she was waiting on Hvitserk. She was teased for it by Dotta and Asdis and the others. But Margrethe was clearly skilled, so much so that Ubbe and Sigurd continually returned to her. It would be easy for Dagny to botch the whole thing.

"You say Margrethe is scared of him?" She nodded. "Are you?"

"No."

"You should be." Dagny could tell from Ubbe's tone and the way he averted his gaze that he must also fear Ivar. It was, unfortunately, a common reaction to him. Dagny hadn't realized that Ubbe was apprehensive. Sigurd certainly was and Hvitserk had said some things in the past that had Dagny curious. But Ubbe? Ubbe was eldest and he didn't seem to fear anything.

"Do you believe he would hurt me?" Ubbe sighed, like he hadn't wanted to bring that into the conversation.

"Sigurd thinks he would kill you." Sigurd was known to be dramatic and he truly did not think much of Ivar but Dagny thought his concern must be genuine.

"And the three of you made the choice to save me over Margrethe? Don't you all care for her?" Had Dagny's longevity with their family made her more valuable? Did they truly like her above Margrethe? Or was Margrethe so skilled at handling men that she would steal Ivar's bloodlust before he'd even begun to feel it?

"It's the inexperience of it all that worried us. If you made a mistake, and it's easy to do, trust me, then there would be no telling." Dagny wanted to deny that Ivar would kill her but she knew that was the most foolish thought she'd had yet. Ivar had killed another child before the age of seven and it hadn't been an accident. Who was to say that if Ivar wasn't totally pleased that he wouldn't kill her? Dagny didn't have any illusions that Ivar was a good person. "We thought he should learn before he came to you."

"Should I learn?" Something flashed in Ubbe's eyes and he smiled.

"If that is what you wish." Dagny felt strangely useless and she thought about apologizing to Ubbe about her reaction. "I wouldn't tell him that we've had this conversation."

"I won't. But why would you tell me this?"

"As I said, I'm not blind." He didn't want her to think it was deliberately Ivar's choice. He didn't want her to feel hurt. She took back her earlier thought as quickly as it had come. This was precisely what friendship should be like. He was looking out for her.

"Thank you," she muttered.

Ubbe extended his hand. "Friends?"

Dagny clutched his forearm like she'd seen men do at the feasts. "Friends."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi! So I have a short chapter for you today. I'm sorry about that! It's been a crazy couple of weeks for me (I've had a lot of university work) so it was a struggle to find time to write and edit. I still feel like this is a bit rusty but oh well! But I hope you are all doing well. Thank you again for all of the reviews, follows, and favorites. It is so great to know that people are enjoying it. Thank you again! I only own Dagny.**

Ivar hated water. He was afraid of it, in truth, though he would never admit that. Worse than the dark water beneath his paltry raft was Dagny standing on the shore of the pond, helping Hvitserk pull him in. He'd asked her to come, true, but part of him had wanted her to find an excuse not to be there. That was what a jealous person would do.

The raft hit the shoreline roughly and Dagny reached for him before thinking better of it. A thick braid tumbled over her shoulder, dark against the blue of her dress. It was a nice dress, maybe one of the nicest she owned, and she'd worn it to check his sprained wrist. It didn't even hurt. He was poor at making excuses.

Ivar reached for Hvitserk instead and Dagny stepped back. Not minutes later, Ubbe was there, picking Ivar up and carrying him into the cabin. Though Margrethe wouldn't be there for some time, Ubbe still made Ivar sit on the bed and positioned him as if Dagny was the one to impress.

She stood back, talking to Hvitserk quietly, the wooden floor creaking beneath their feet. He looked at her as if he'd eat her, given the chance. Sigurd poked his head between them and said something that made Dagny blush. Ivar felt his hand ball into a fist. Finally, Ubbe turned and gestured to Dagny. They exchanged a look, which was odd to Ivar.

"He should be mostly healed so it won't take me long," Dagny said. "You can go ahead and fetch Margrethe." Hvitserk nodded once, jealousy wrought clear across his features. Ivar smirked.

"Your wrist is fine," Dagny said, when the door to the meager cabin closed. Ivar supposed this would be a fine place to Dagny, larger than anything she'd ever known. "I looked at it yesterday."

"I know," he replied, voice low. He looked at the floor and then Dagny was on her knees before him. He gave her his wrist anyway. "If you know I am fine, then why bother?"

"If you are fine, why call a healer?" she retorted. He rolled his eyes. Ivar had wanted her to answer that she liked touching him because it was obvious that she did. She was always resting her hand on his legs and his shoulders.

"You are foolish," he said. She shrugged, as she never seemed affected by much of anything that he said.

"I am indeed." Her deft fingers untied his brace and slid it off. "Are you in pain?" she asked, running her hand along his forearm and down over his wrist.

"I am always in pain." She paused and just looked at him. Dagny had dark eyes, clever eyes that always appeared to be deciphering the situation. She brought his hand closer, so that his knuckles were brushing the skin of her chest, and he let her.

"You're nervous." He was. His heart was pounding and he felt vaguely sick and Dagny was no help at all with her black hair and her pale lips and her skin like moonlight.

"I am not," he declared.

"You look pale and your eyes are wide and I can feel your hand shaking." He pulled away from her, his skin now strangely cold.

"Well, you are jealous."

"I am not."

"You are flushed and stiff and you are pretending to be irritated with me when we both know that you enjoy doting." Dagny bit her lower lip and just shook her head. She was jealous. She could deny it if she wished but he knew she must be. Sigurd had laughed when Ivar insinuated that Dagny might care for him, as if Dagny were some princess on a pedestal or either a girl who had gone mad. It had infuriated him, the way so much of what Sigurd said usually did, but he was sure of this. There was no reason to be angry when he knew it to be true. "Do you know much about Margrethe?" he finally asked.

"Not as much as your brothers, I'm sure," she responded, through her teeth. He laughed and a smile tugged at her lips. Dagny smiled often and Ivar lied to himself and said he hated it. But this smile he did not hate. "She's nice."

"She's nice? That is all you have to say?" Truly, that would be a comfort if Ivar didn't feel like Dagny was saying it simply for that reason. He knew what Margrethe's reaction had likely been; the same as everyone else's. Perhaps, it had been worse.

"Well, I do not know how well she kisses or anything that might be of interest to you."

He sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Frankly, nothing about her is of any interest to me."

"Truly? _Nothing?_ " Ivar turned back toward Dagny, who wore a thinly veiled expression of disbelief. Every one of the slaves must be in some form of competition with Margrethe and they must be losing.

"Nothing," he answered. Her eyes brightened. "But _you_ interest me." Dagny froze, her lithe hand perilously close to resting on his legs. He wanted to tell her to leave, get away from him, but worse was that he also wanted her to touch him.

"Surely not," she muttered. Ivar wanted to scoff at her perfectly placed modesty but it seemed genuine.

"Would you be nervous?" he asked. "Were you in my place, would you be nervous?"

"Yes." Dagny cocked her head to the side, like the question had the most obvious answer. Ivar doubted that Ubbe or Hvitserk or even Sigurd had ever been anxious about women. He deplored the fact that he was. "But I think you have nothing to worry about. Margrethe knows what to do and you are very clever. You'll learn quickly." He looked to her and knew by her reaction that fear was plain on his face. It was the _worst_ feeling, the most useless emotion he had. And for something as ridiculous as pleasing a woman. "I know it is difficult, Ivar, because I would be the same, but you should try to be calm."

"It is impossible." Ivar was a storm barely contained in a human body and he would never be calm. "Help me get ready."

"Of course," she replied. Dagny's was a face of sharp angles and lines. Her cheeks and jaw could likely hone blades. Her eyes were just as acute. But all the while she managed to be soft. It was there in the set of her mouth and her small nose and the color on her cheeks.

She untied his other brace and he let his fingers graze her wrist. She cut the leather binding his legs. She leaned into him and undid his vest and the tie of his tunic and as with everything, she did it magnificently slowly. Ivar had been in pain all of his life but this was something excruciating that he wasn't accustomed to.

"Margrethe will do the rest," Dagny muttered, her voice an uncharacteristic rasp. She cut her eyes at him and he knew he'd been staring at her, that he'd been watching every move she made.

"I don't want her to," he replied. Ivar put his hand to her cheek and threaded his fingers into her hair. It came partially free of its braid. Dagny only held his gaze with her spell-like eyes and didn't shudder or pull away or give any hint of anxiety.

"Neither do I." She gave him a grin that barely disguised desire. It seemed to devour him from the inside out.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked because she was staring at him and he was sure her answer was one he wanted to hear. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and his hand tightened in her hair.

"You would laugh," she muttered. A stupid pain in his chest made it hard to breathe.

"No," he replied. "I would not." Ivar leaned forward, so close that if Dagny tilted her head upwards, they would be kissing. She lifted her eyes to his and to her credit, she did not shake. It was more than he could say for himself. "Are you jealous, Dagny?" he murmured.

She tipped her chin up and whispered into his mouth, "Yes."

Dagny was away from him and standing before he could crush her lips with his own or drag his teeth down her pale, white throat. The door creaked open and his brothers rushed in, Margrethe behind them, wearing a plain homespun dress. Ivar looked to Dagny, hair hopelessly out of her braid and chest heaving. She could disguise nothing. She nodded at him, which didn't inspire the confidence he was sure she intended.

Ivar didn't notice how Sigurd and Ubbe exchanged a look or the way Hvitserk's eyes narrowed. Or perhaps, he did and he just didn't care. Let them think what they wanted, let them suspect. They hadn't believed him anyway. But they couldn't tease him anymore. They couldn't laugh. Dagny, with her tousled hair and pink cheeks, had proven him right.

Dagny grabbed Margrethe's wrist on her way out. They exchanged words he couldn't hear. The two of them appeared like night and day, sun and moon. Margrethe's golden radiance against Dagny's silver darkness. Yet Dagny was the one he knew to be kind and undemanding. Margrethe was unknown, aside from assumed ambition. There was nothing in this for Dagny but perhaps, there was something for Margrethe.

When Dagny left, Margrethe rubbed at her wrist and stared after her, as if she found the girl mad. He clenched his jaw. What had Dagny said? Had she begged fairness in his favor? Had she said she felt sorry for him? But he still felt the ghost of her lips and he didn't have it in him to despise her for anything.

Sigurd tugged at the neck of Ivar's tunic, as if he might reveal something hidden. "What have you been doing, brother?" he asked, sly as a snake.

"Sigurd," Ubbe warned. Sigurd rolled his eyes but backed off. Ivar knew how it looked, with Dagny's hair and his laces undone. He didn't want to correct them. Margrethe, across the room, had her thin arms crossed. She looked like a doe who'd spotted the hunter and frozen.

All at once, he turned to his brothers. Sigurd, with his malicious smirk. Ubbe, with his nervous yet confident smile. Hvitserk, whose face was a mask no doubt hiding jealousy. None of them offered him anything. Ubbe clapped him on the neck and as quickly as they had come, the brothers were gone. All of Ivar's smarmy arrogance left him in the face of being alone with this girl.

But the door to the cabin closed and that was what he was. Alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey y'all! First of all, I want to apologize for the wait! It has been too long since I last updated but school has been crazy for me the past few weeks and I feel like I've been working on this chapter forever! I still feel like something is off about it. But this week is spring break and it's been raining, which is like 100% writing inspiration for me. If it's raining, I feel like I need to be writing** ** _something._** **So that's been productive. It's also a bit of a long chapter so I stopped before I felt like it went on too long. I hope you enjoy it! I've been reading your comments and I really appreciate them. It's so great to see what you're thinking and what you'd like to happen so please keep talking to me! I might make the next chapter from the boys' perspectives but we'll see how it goes. I hope you are all doing well! Thank you again!**

Asdis made several tiny braids in Dagny's hair. She was slow and purposeful and Dagny did not mind. They would both be expected to be polished and elegant since they could be at the side of the queen for much of the feast. There had also been talk of a sacrifice for the night before the raiders left, which thrilled Dagny because sacrifices always put everyone in an excellent mood. It would also bode well for Hvitserk's journey to the Mediterranean.

Asdis hadn't said much since this morning, when she and Margrethe had tried their luck with the chickens. Dagny feared what they talked about, what was said about her. She'd heard nothing about what happened, which wasn't unusual, she supposed. But she'd spoken to Margrethe the night before and she knew it had been gravely inappropriate. She couldn't blame Margrethe for any thoughts she might have of her.

With Asdis's hands in her hair, it was all she could think about. How she'd grabbed Margrethe by the wrist, how her nerves had been plain on her pretty face, how obvious it had been that she believed Dagny should thank her for doing this.

"Margrethe, please," Dagny had murmured, her fingers around Margrethe's tiny wrist, "be kind to him."

" _Kind?_ " she'd whispered back, blue eyes wide. "I am frightened for my life and you counsel kindness?"

"I'm sorry," Dagny had immediately apologized. Margrethe had every reason to be anxious. But Dagny felt sure that a woman as sly and unknowingly cunning as her could have found a way to avoid this situation. All it might have taken was the right word to Ubbe. "Then pretend." Margrethe averted her eyes. She thought she was doing Dagny the greatest favor, Dagny could tell by the look on her beautiful face. Margrethe was sparing her the wrath and the horror and the fumbling inexperience. "I would have done this in your place."

Margrethe shook her head, saying without words that she thought Dagny was mad. Envy washed over her like stormy water, it seemed to take root in the smallest of places. Dagny wanted to call her greedy and curse her for sampling the royal family like apples at the market. "I'm doing you a great favor, Dagny."

That echoed in her mind even now. A great favor. A great favor. A great favor. Dagny couldn't tell who was the more foolish between them.

"I spoke with Margrethe this morning." Asdis' voice was cold, detached.

"What did she say?" Dagny made herself ask.

"She did not say much. But then, she didn't have to." Dagny closed her eyes, willed herself to neutrality, but the urge to ask about it all crept over her. "At least it is over." There was a sigh in her voice.

That, Dagny could agree with.

Asdis crowned her with Dagny's wreath of purple and white flowers. Asdis wore one of red and blue. Asdis said nothing when normally feast days were her favorites, an excuse to look like more than a servant for a night. Dagny said nothing either, knowing that something must have been said when Asdis was with Margrethe that had made her pensive.

Dagny could not settle her nerves on the way to the great hall. Asdis, golden yet severe, appeared more a queen's handmaiden than Dagny feared she ever would. Dagny felt like a girl standing beside a woman, someone meek beside someone bold.

"Are you angry with me, Asdis?" Dagny finally asked as they approached the great hall. She knew what waited behind those doors, who she would see, conversations she might be forced to have, and all the while, she would have to face Aslaug, a woman she admired beyond anything on this earth and mother to boys she respected. Boys she cared about.

"No." Asdis was curt and short and it frustrated Dagny, who already felt cold and unwanted. She was aware that it was imprudent, when she and Asdis argued all of the time and moved past it quickly, but this felt strange. It felt final, like it might be the last conversation with Asdis she'd ever have.

"Then what is it?" Asdis turned and though Dagny was a head taller than her, it was still as if Asdis was looking down her nose.

"I am concerned about you." If this were a usual day, Dagny would have scoffed or laughed but nothing about this day had been usual and Asdis, for once, seemed genuinely serious. "She wouldn't say but I know he hurt her."

The ice Dagny felt like she had been standing on for days suddenly cracked beneath her feet.

"There's a mark on her neck," Asdis continued. "She said he wanted you. She said he whispered your name."

And Dagny plunged into the cold water. It made her heart stop.

She took in a sharp breath. "Asdis, I-"

"I don't want to argue. Just be careful, Dagny, please. He's- he is mad and I fear he will destroy you." Dagny worried the opposite; that he would _make_ her, craft her into something she wasn't. "Have some sense, I implore you. This is not a game, not a board where he can put us all into the place he wants us."

"You and I both know that all we are, are pieces in their game," Dagny muttered, her voice low.

Asdis frowned. "If he comes for you, Dagny, I can't protect you."

"I would never have asked you to." Asdis shook her head in response.

"Are you scared?" Dagny was at war. Because, indeed, this did frighten her. It did make her fear him. But another part of her refused to settle for that, did not want to be like everyone else in Kattegat who wasn't the queen. She had worked for Ivar's respect, for his hard-won amity, for him to feel comfortable enough with her to talk. She couldn't put all of her history with him aside for one event, something that was not even confirmed. But she could not ignore it either, not when it involved her in some way. Dagny knew she could be naïve but she hoped she was not stupid.

Dagny shook her head in response. "Being frightened of him has created this situation."

"No, I'm afraid your brashness has done that."

"I can't apologize for befriending him. He is an outcast, he's looked down upon. It is not right or just or remotely in the realm of acceptable and I'm ashamed, Asdis, that you think it is. He can't walk! It does not make him dimwitted or deaf to cruelty. He is the most intelligent person in that hall, perhaps the most intelligent person either of us will ever know." Dagny was pointing to the doors, nails digging into her palm.

Asdis, cold as ever, showed no reaction. "That means that you feel sorry for him, that you pity him, that you clutch your heart when he crawls by because you cannot imagine his hardship. It does not mean that you let him slink into your bed when you know he's a killer."

"What other choice is there, Asdis? What would you have me do?"

"Don't pretend like it isn't something you want. Margrethe said he was half undressed when she arrived, that your hair was undone." Dagny's fingers seemed to lock. It had hurt her to do that. She had barely touched him and still, it had burned.

"I did what I was asked." Asdis seemed to soften and understand that it hadn't been something Dagny had wanted, even if it wasn't for the reason she thought.

"Please, Dagny. I beg you to be smart, to be careful."

"I am smart. I am careful." Asdis tilted her golden head to the side, every inch a mentor wanting to scold a student. She simply shook her head and thrust the doors to the hall open.

* * *

Dagny had worked at every feast she'd ever attended and she had been prepared to work at this one. But she was sitting at the table reserved for Aslaug and her family instead, having to bear the looks that Dotta and Asdis threw her. Worse than their judgment were the stares from Margrethe, who had walked by so many times as to be conspicuous. Dagny's nails dug lines into the wood of the great oaken table because Asdis had been true to her word. A thin line, neither red nor pink nor there the day before, graced her lean throat. It was light, barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know to look.

Hvitserk poured her ceremonial wine. He was the reason she was sitting instead of moving among the throngs of people in the hall and serving. "Sit with me," he'd said not long after she and Asdis had arrived, taking her hands and pulling her to the table without waiting for an answer. Asdis had remained behind, platters and jugs and plates surrounding her.

"They could need me," Dagny had muttered. Hvitserk had only scoffed. Dagny tried to ignore the feel of his hands on hers, how warm he seemed.

"And deny me time with you before I leave?" he'd asked. He had been smiling and it was so charming that she smiled back and followed him. It wasn't until she reached the table that it all sunk in. A night sitting with the queen, with her sons. It was an honor, one that she'd never seen given to another slave.

She attempted one last time to avoid it, to work with the others, when she saw Aslaug at the head of the table. But Aslaug had only graced her with the most charming smile and said it was more than fine. Aslaug was always kind to her, in ways Dagny thought she didn't deserve, but she found this strange. Hvitserk had brought her around the table and pulled her down onto the bench beside him before she could question it. Anxiety roiled in her stomach when she saw that Ivar would be to her left. Ivar hunched over the table, an overconfident smirk plastered on his handsome face, but it faltered when she sat down beside him.

Hvitserk pressed the goblet into her hands, shaking her from any thoughts. "Skål," he said, holding her gaze. That look made her head spin as much as she knew the wine would. She smiled and drank. It was automatic. Ceremonial wine always made her feel strange, happy.

"Dagny!" Ubbe exclaimed when he arrived, theatrically taking a seat in front of her. "You look lovely!" Dagny felt her face warm immediately. Ubbe always made any comment seem genuine. "Doesn't she?" Ubbe's gaze slid to Ivar and he nodded her way. It was so incredibly obvious that Dagny felt sure everyone around them took notice of it, including Aslaug. Her nails dug into her palm.

Ivar turned, locking his eyes on the flowers in her hair and the flush of her skin. "Yes," he allowed, the response seeming unnecessarily painful. "She does."

Sigurd and Hvitserk laughed and it made her flinch. "Thank you," she murmured. Ivar looked her over one last time, from her unbound hair to her faded red dress, and nodded. That he ignored his brothers' laughter seemed strange to Dagny, when Ivar normally never let any word against him stand. But his hand was in a fist in his lap and she thought, perhaps, that he was trying to avoid the fight.

Dagny looked across the table and raised her eyebrows at Ubbe, who grinned and shrugged, as if to say it was worth trying. Something about it made her feel warm, that perhaps Ubbe was true to his word and they were friends. She wanted it to be so, particularly after her strained conversation with Asdis.

"Well, I think you always look lovely," Hvitserk said, suddenly so close to her that she could feel the press of his chest against her arm. He plucked a flower from her crown and tucked it behind his ear. Sigurd rolled his eyes and brushed the flower onto the floor. Hvitserk pushed at him and Dagny laughed.

Ivar froze beside her, as if enchanted by some song only he could hear. Though it wasn't her concern by any means, Dagny still desperately wanted to know what had happened between Ivar and Margrethe. No one else seemed to think anything was unusual and Dagny was sure that Sigurd would never let an opportunity pass to embarrass Ivar, if he saw it. But she wasn't blind or irrational for that matter. There was a mark on Margrethe's neck. Asdis was remarkably grave. Ivar, normally in his element at these feasts, said nothing to her when the night before, she thought he might devour her.

Sigurd got up and walked around the table, putting his head between her and Ivar. Dagny knew from the apprehensive look on Ubbe's face that this was not going to go well. Sigurd smiled back, an eerie thing that typically hid mischief.

"So how was it, Ivar? How was Margrethe?" Sigurd asked, his voice sly. His hand landed on Dagny's shoulder, as if he thought she might bolt. It made her flinch. Dagny thought he might still be mad at her for knocking a glass of ale down the front of him weeks ago. She lied and said it was a mistake but Sigurd knew it was because he'd been criticizing Ivar and Aslaug. She'd barely even disguised the movement. She'd tipped the glass into his lap before she even knew what she was doing. Sigurd had never forgotten it.

Ivar's blue eyes were cold and narrowed. But he bragged about it, about how Margrethe was so impressed with him, especially compared to Sigurd. It went on until Ivar felt that he'd successfully cowed Sigurd, though Dagny knew just how difficult that could be.

Aslaug eventually called for it all to stop and Dagny was massively relieved, as there had been many a night that had devolved into an unnecessary fight between Sigurd and Ivar. This night felt full of stress anyway, with tension now wrought clear across every face sitting at the table.

Hvitserk, as always, ignored it and took Dagny's hand again. She smiled at him, because she'd always thought her hands rough and harsh, but she immediately wanted to take it back when Sigurd smirked at Ivar. But she had no choice, she couldn't say anything, she could only do as she was told. So she allowed Hvitserk to steal her attention and it wasn't a hard thing to do.

Hvitserk was kind and funny and he liked her and if there was an air of competition to the feast, he seemed to ignore it. He talked to Dagny about raiding and all manner of things and all the while, kept his hand on hers. Dagny knew what Asdis and the others would say; that this was the start of what she'd always known was coming. And Dagny knew no way to avoid it. Worse, was that she didn't want to. She'd been cast aside in favor of Margrethe because she did not know how to do this and she liked him. Dagny had grown up alongside Aslaug's sons but she'd always been closest to Hvitserk. It was for a reason. Perhaps she was wrong but Dagny thought them alike. It made sense when, as of late, not much had.

There was a loud groan as the doors to the hall opened, revealing Hvitserk and Bjorn's fellow raiders to the Mediterranean, Halfdan the Black and Harald Finehair. Dagny was certain she'd met them many years ago, before Ragnar's second voyage to Paris, and she hadn't liked them. Of course, Dagny could not recall liking anyone other than Aslaug and her family before the age of eight.

Hvitserk leaned over and told her that he should meet them alongside Bjorn. Then his lips were on her cheek. His breath was warm against her throat and before she could react, he was gone. Dagny tried to weigh her hand down but it traced her cheek anyway, in an odd sort of disbelief. It felt like she'd been standing too close to a fire. She looked up and saw Ubbe, who gave the merest shake of his head.

Dagny turned to Ivar. He only stared back, apparently about to say something, when Dagny heard the unmistakable sound of a platter and cookware hitting the wooden floor. She stood and watched some of the crowd of raiders part enough for her to see Margrethe on the ground, plates strewn around her. Dagny was beginning to climb over the bench to go to her aid when Ivar wrapped a strong hand around her wrist.

"Don't," he said sternly but there was something in his voice that sounded like begging. Dagny looked down at him, the question showing in her hazel eyes. "I said, _don't_."

Dagny slowly sat back down, her gaze still on Margrethe, who only looked back. She had to obey him. There was no other choice. Ivar's hand was still locked on her wrist but he wouldn't look at her. There was something he didn't want Margrethe to have the opportunity to say.

"Let her help, Ivar," Aslaug finally said, her beautiful face a mask. She looked between Ivar and Dagny as if she saw something connecting them. Dagny thought that perhaps, she did. Aslaug could see things others couldn't.

"Mother," Ivar replied. How he made one word sound like praise and pleading and anger all at once, Dagny would never know.

"Ivar," Aslaug warned. Dagny nodded at the queen and the moment Ivar's fingers left her skin, she went to Margrethe's aid.

She moved through the large crowd to Margrethe and dropped to her knees to help her clean up. Dagny could tell that the evening had been a massive stress on Margrethe thus far, if only because she constantly walked by Aslaug's table meekly.

"Hurry," Dagny whispered, "before you are punished." Before they were _both_ punished. While Aslaug wasn't known for doling out incredibly harsh punishments to slaves she liked, Dagny wondered whether there was any affection between the queen and Margrethe. Besides, Aslaug was not the only one who might harm them, not when they were on the floor amidst many warriors.

Margrethe moved slowly, as if in a daze and unaware of all the people around them. She could often be timid and skittish but Dagny found this strange. Timid and skittish were qualities most slaves had, Dagny included, but this went beyond that. Margrethe was scared.

"Margrethe, are you all right?" Dagny asked, placing a plate on the tray and narrowly avoiding a raider's foot. She nodded back but kept her eyes down. She wasn't going to say anything. "I owe you an apology." Margrethe froze, hand on a cup. "What I said to you last night… it was wrong. I'm sorry."

There was a long pause after they finished cleaning up the plates but Margrethe finally got up the nerve when they both stood. "I can't talk to you, Dagny. I want to but I can't."

"Talk to me about what?" Margrethe shook her head. "Just tell me, did he hurt you?" Margrethe finally met Dagny's eyes and narrowed her own.

"No," she denied, even though it was as clear as daylight that he had.

Dagny did not know how to reply or what else to say so she turned to leave. But Margrethe grabbed her arm, her nails digging into Dagny's skin. "Margrethe-" Dagny began.

"He wanted _you_ ," Margrethe murmured. Dagny tried to take a step back but Margrethe only pulled her closer. The doors to the hall creaked open once more, attracting everyone else's attention. "He said your name."

Dagny again heard ice cracking beneath her feet. She felt it on her neck and down her back and along her chest. It was a feeling she wanted to hate but just couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Dagny muttered, unsure of what else to say. Margrethe shrugged and walked away, balancing her tray of plates deftly. Dagny only stood there, wondering why Margrethe thought that was an important thing to say.

She decided that she would have to return to the queen's table. It was an honor to be asked to sit with their family and she could not deny it. But the second the table was in sight, a hand wrapped around her upper arm. Dagny was beginning to get irritated with that.

She turned and saw a man at least twice her size, no doubt a part of Harald Finehair's raiding party. Her eyes widened when he let her arm go only to claw at her waist. Dagny made her face turn from anger and disgust to a perfected expression of neutrality. She wouldn't do him the honor of pretending to enjoy it. When his hands finally roamed her chest, Dagny flinched.

The man was away from her in the next instant, a woman now standing between them. "Leave the girl alone," she said. "She's not interested." He disappeared back into the crowd and Dagny felt as if she could finally breathe once more.

The woman must have some clout to end the interaction that quickly, Dagny thought. When she turned back to her, Dagny found that she was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. She had a crown of blonde hair and carried herself as a queen, an earl. And it all became clear.

"Thank you," Dagny said. Lagertha, once wife to Ragnar Lothbrok and now Earl Ingstad, smiled at her.

"You are welcome," she replied. "No one deserves that." Dagny was still stunned when Lagertha walked away to speak with Bjorn Ironside.

She walked back to the table as slowly as she could muster, though the urge to run to the safety it offered was still in the back of her mind. Ivar was talking to Aslaug and gesturing past Dagny to Lagertha. When the queen rose to go speak with her, calculated anger plain in her expression, Dagny thought that everyone in the great hall must be in competition with someone else. She with Margrethe, Ivar with Sigurd and Hvitserk, Aslaug with Lagertha.

Ivar clenched his jaw when she sat down beside him. She supposed she could have taken any other seat, as everyone else was now speaking with the newcomers to the feast, but why pretend?

Ivar observed her coolly and finally said, "If a man touches you like that again, I want you to fight him. Kill him."

"You know that I cannot do that," she replied. It had a double meaning; Dagny wasn't _allowed_ to do that, nor did she have the capability if she was.

"You can learn," he responded. "I'll show you."

She shook her head. "It is something I must bear."

"How often does this happen?" It was said through his teeth, more a snarl than speaking.

"Seldomly," she replied.

"Then it is often enough." He looked her up and down, as if taking her measure. "I _order_ you to fight back." Dagny was smiling before she could tell herself not to. "Even if it is my own brother."

Dagny gave him a nod. "Then I will do as you wish."

"And what do you wish, Dagny?" Ivar leaned towards her, all soft skin and sharp edges. She reached for him without thinking and let him take her hand.

"I don't know," she lied. She wanted to know what happened the night before.

"I am sure you do."

"Margrethe. Did you like her?" Dagny muttered. "That is what I wish to know."

She knew it was the right way to get her real question answered because he froze and his grip on her hand tightened. "No," he admitted. "I did not like her at all. She did not please me." It was probably one of the most honest statements he'd ever spoken to her. It seemed to take an endurance of colossal skill for him to say the words.

"What did she do wrong?" _Why did you hurt her?_ Dagny thought desperately.

"She was not you." And his hand crept up her arm until his fingers were on her throat. She tried so hard to keep her mind clear and focused, to remember the line on Margrethe's neck, but Dagny could only think that Ivar must have bargained with the gods for the ability to lace his touch with magic. It had her mesmerized.

Aslaug and Ubbe finally returned and Dagny made herself pull back. Ivar took her hand again and pulled her closer to him, so close she could feel every move he made.

Hvitserk came back only moments later and immediately, the air was charged. Dagny didn't need to see to know that Ivar was smirking because Hvitserk actually narrowed his eyes. She'd never seen him jealous. In fact, she didn't know that Hvitserk even understood how to be jealous. It wasn't a typical Viking trait.

But competition, she supposed, was.


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so sorry that I haven't updated in over a month! It's been crazy at uni but at least that is almost over for the summer (and I have to get my wisdom teeth out in two weeks and I am so NERVOUS!). I also want to apologize in advance for this chapter. It was meant to only be a part of this chapter but it wound up going so long that I had to break it. I've kept to my word about doing the boys' perspectives but this is only Hvitserk's! When I moved on to the second part, I just thought it deserved a break. So the night is not over! The next chapter will actually be from Sigurd's POV, which is really interesting to me, and as I'm already working on it (and since it's meant to be in this chapter anyway), I hope to put it up towards the end of this week or early next week! Thank you so much for your support and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Remember, the night is not over! Lol. Also, I only own Dagny.**

Hvitserk liked any excuse to enjoy himself. He was perpetually hungry and always had an appetite, for food, for women, for war. The night of the sacrifice was no different. Raiding loomed on the horizon and spirits were high and men who were normally callous turned charming, if only for the night. Hvitserk liked to believe he was charming all the time but even he could not deny the effect of a ceremony like this.

He was afforded the greatest position to watch the ritual, alongside his brothers, Harald Finehair, and Halfdan. Firelight bathed everyone there in a strange glow and the crowd around him chanted, a song that could lead a person astray and danced its words along his skin.

Aslaug walked into the clearing before him, face painted black and red. Behind her came Dagny, clothed in a gown of white with a crown of lavender flowers in her black hair, cradling the curved sword Aslaug would use for the sacrifice. Kohl lined her eyes and something shone on her brow like gold. Hvitserk actually stumbled in saying the words of the song. Dagny was not plain but she was always hidden away beneath old frocks, behind herbs and tinctures. But nights like this were special and Dagny was allowed to inhabit a new role.

Hvitserk heard Ivar's sharp intake of breath beside him and dared not look down. He knew what he would see. Ivar's blue eyes would be wide and his nostrils would flare and his lips would be parted, as if the idea of Dagny shedding blood or holding a ceremonial blade might put to rest all rumors that he could not satisfy a woman. Hvitserk remembered when Ivar hated Dagny, deplored her supposed mock kindness and quiet, the way she smiled and wore flowers in her hair. Now he knew that Ivar was probably considering tearing the flowers away from her with his teeth.

At a nod from the queen, Dagny kneeled, bowed her head, and lifted the sword on the palms of her hands. Its blade bit her skin when Aslaug took the hilt. Everyone watched as Aslaug slit the throat of a small stag for the sacrifice. Blood, thick and dark, flowed into the bowl beneath it, in time to the song of the raiders.

Aslaug dipped a brush into the blood and marked herself before flicking it at Dagny. Red dots splattered across her pale face and neck.

The queen gestured to the bowl of blood and Dagny took it in her arms. They walked around, anointing the raiders leaving for the Mediterranean tomorrow and those staying. Hvitserk grinned when they reached him and Aslaug slung the stag's blood across his face. Dagny returned his smile, her eyes shining in the dark, and Hvitserk decided in that moment that he had waited long enough.

When they were finished, Dagny relinquished the blood for others to take. The crowd began to disperse but the revels were only beginning. One of the other slaves handed her a goblet of wine and immediately, she took a drink of it. While she was still standing there, Hvitserk snaked an arm around her waist. When she turned, Dagny was already smiling, as if she'd been waiting for him to do just that.

"Mark me," he murmured, nodding towards the blood and pulling the goblet from her hand. Dagny followed his gaze skeptically, as if she thought it would be inappropriate but wanted to do it anyway.

Hvitserk's hand was still on her hip when Dagny dipped a finger into the stag's blood. Though Dagny had touched him hundreds of times, when she bandaged or cleaned a wound, he still felt his pulse rise when she pressed the tip of her finger to his forehead and brought it down the length of his nose. He shut his eyes, feeling oddly entranced. She dragged two fingers down each of his cheeks and onto his neck. He made a noise, deep in the back of his throat, and it seemed to stay her fingers, keeping them on his skin far longer than necessary. He almost told her not to stop, almost took her by the hand and led her into the forest, but he had promised himself that he would go slow.

"Now I will mark you," he said when she reluctantly dropped her hands.

"I am no warrior," she replied, voice low and cheeks flushed. Hvitserk grinned, the smile of a wolf, and took a swig of her wine.

"You could be…" Hvitserk moved the top of her tunic aside, his fingers barely brushing her skin, and she took in a breath sharply. "One day." Dagny held her breath as he drew a line of blood along her collarbone. He gave her a crooked grin because this was what he wanted. Perhaps Ivar was telling the truth when he said she wanted him. Maybe he _had_ buried his face in the nape of her neck, hands twining in her dark hair, while she undressed him. But none of that mattered now. Hvitserk had bided his time. He'd waited, at Ubbe's bizarre and noble insistence, and it occurred to him that his elder brother might have been right.

Dagny tensed, like the ground around her feet had caught flame, when he drew a stark line of red along her jaw. He saw Margrethe out of the corner of his eye. She was just watching and he did not know whether her sights were on Dagny or himself. He felt Dagny clench her jaw when Margrethe finally made her way to the great hall to help the other slaves.

He laughed because the tension between the two of them was palpable. Jealousy was written across the lines of Dagny's body, in the set of her shoulders and the curve of her mouth. When she raised her eyebrows, he dropped his smile and asked, "Are you concerned about Margrethe?"

"Shouldn't I be?" she responded.

"No," he said. It was frankly ridiculous for Dagny to feel threatened when it had always been obvious to Hvitserk that she was only steps away from being a member of their family. Dagny was favored. It was why she had gold on her brow and blood on her jaw tonight. But Margrethe had been chosen to bed Ivar and it unsettled Hvitserk that that might be the root of their competition.

"But she's special to you. All of you like her."

Hvitserk shrugged and took the wine when she offered it. "Not as much as I like you."

"I disagree. I saw you in the woods with her." She could have seen any number of things. The idea of her seeing any of it oddly thrilled him. "I'm sorry," she muttered, eyes averted. "It was wrong."

Hvitserk put his hand to his chest and laughed, ridiculously flattered. "Jealousy looks well on you, Dagny," he responded and color crept into her face. "And never apologize to me." The corners of her mouth turned up and she nodded.

For a moment, they just looked at one another and Hvitserk knew he should say something, alieve her misplaced insecurity. His hand rubbed the back of his neck and admitted, "I've waited because it should be right. When I kiss you properly, it should be right."

The skin around her eyes softened and she nodded again. Before she could say anything, he threaded his fingers through hers and led her towards the great hall. His brothers were there, drinking and laughing, even Ivar. His eyes ran over them, locking on their linked hands, and even from this distance, Hvitserk saw his demeanor change. He took Dagny to the side of the great hall, intentionally away from Ivar's gaze.

Hvitserk was not a jealous boy. Sharing girls had never bothered him before. But when he thought about what might have happened the other night when Dagny was left alone with Ivar, he felt strange. Hvitserk's way of life was easygoing, go along to get along, and this wasn't worth the fight. There were more important things to argue about than a slave girl's affections. Margrethe had bedded all of Aslaug's sons and as far as Hvitserk knew, it wasn't something that bothered any of them. It certainly didn't bother him. But Dagny was different.

He had history with Dagny, a friendly comradery that came from being the same age and liking to laugh. He'd taught her how to swim and where to find the best herbs in the forest and how to mend armor. He'd vented to her about his family and his responsibilities. She always listened, laughed when he joked with her, played any game he asked her to play. She wasn't some girl to bed and discard. He'd grown up with her. He was her friend.

"You know, Ivar seems to think you like him," Hvitserk finally said. Her hand suddenly felt heavy in his at the mention of Ivar's name. It was a conversation he had been searching for a way to have with her since they'd both stood on the bank of that pond, pulling Ivar across the water. Hvitserk felt sure that he knew what she would say, it was written across her face that night and it was there now.

"I do like him," she admitted before taking a long drink of wine. He nodded and his hair fell over his shoulder. She matched the movement with her eyes, like she was thinking of running her fingers through it if only he'd ask.

"And do you like me?" There was a mischievous gleam to his eyes and she smiled, a knowing thing.

"Jealousy looks well on you, Hvitserk," she replied. At that, he found that he had to smirk. "And you know that I do." He was content enough with that answer.

"Well, I am not jealous. It is the Viking way. We share everything."

"You are never envious?" she asked, disbelief clear in her cool voice. He smiled and shook his head, even though it had been obvious for days that to some degree, he was.

"I've never had reason to be." Perhaps Ivar had parted her lips with his own, perhaps her deft fingers had untied his tunic while he kissed her throat, perhaps Ivar had moaned her name. But Hvitserk could do each of those things and more. And he could do them much better.

"Truly?" His grip tightened on her hand, so warm and firm.

"Truly," he murmured, still grinning. "You could kiss each of us tonight and not a one of us would mind." Hvitserk laughed at the way her face flushed. "Perhaps, I should dare you to do that, like in that game we used to play as children."

"You wouldn't," Dagny muttered. He shook his head.

"I wouldn't, as I want you all to myself." Hvitserk's hand found the side of her face and her strong jawline. Dagny let the goblet fall from her grip. It hit the brush at their feet without a sound. Hvitserk could no longer hear the revels inside the great hall or in the town of Kattegat. It was just the sound of his blood rushing. Always a good sign. Dagny's chest was heaving, as if she had been underwater too long. He grinned and Dagny offered him a weak smile in return.

She was nervous. She had never done this before. And Ubbe's advice still pounded in his head. Take your time, take your time, take your time. And he _would_ take his time but though Hvitserk's wants and needs could ebb and flow with the tide, he had wanted this for ages and he had waited long enough.

"Would you mind greatly if I kissed you?" Hvitserk asked, his voice laced with ceremonial wine and desire.

Dagny, whether because of the wine or the sacrifice or the smile on Hvitserk's handsome face, answered, "I would not."

Hvitserk's mouth covered hers. She was both soft and hard, lean and lush, and Hvitserk thought that perhaps putting it off made it all the sweeter. His free hand crept along her waist and the small of her back and his body was hard against her. Her shoulder blades touched the side of the great hall and her flower crown fell to the ground. Then his fingers crept along her ribs, so slowly as to be counting them, and his lips brushed away the blood on her jaw. And Dagny's fingers wound through his light hair, a moan forming low in her throat as he kissed her again. He went rigid, the sound seeming to place him under a spell in time to the way her fingers traced his skin.

Hvitserk knew that he cared for Dagny, that there was more to his affection for her than simple attraction, and frankly, it was unnerving. Potentially even terrifying. And kissing her made it all the worse. So he pulled away.

Dagny's face fell automatically, her lips swollen and red. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her voice so small, Hvitserk barely heard her. Hvitserk arched a brow because it was such a ridiculous assumption. He leaned against her again, letting their foreheads touch. Dagny only looked at his chest, the embroidery on his tunic suddenly of massive interest to her.

"Of course not," he murmured. "But I am trying to be slow and you make it most difficult."

"Why pace yourself?" she asked, apparently still believing herself at fault. "You've never been like this before." Ubbe had his moments of clarity but Hvitserk thought that telling Dagny that she was too inexperienced to bed his crippled brother was perhaps one of the most foolish things he'd ever done. Now she was insecure about it and for some reason, that made his chest tighten.

"Because you are special to me," he murmured. It sounded like the most foolish thing to say, even to his ears, but it seemed to register as true to her. Dagny's gaze went to his mouth so Hvitserk pressed his lips against hers once more and her hands gripped the fabric of his tunic so hard that he thought she might tear it. He pulled back again, dangerously close to spiriting her away, and this time, she smiled at him. It was so unobtrusively pleasant that Hvitserk felt his heart start pounding. "Would you dance with me, Dagny?"

She gave a small laugh and said, "I am not very good at it."

Hvitserk smirked. "Nor am I."

She laughed again, a sound that washed over him like a wave, and nodded her assent.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi! So I am very sorry for the late update. Time got away from me and then I had wisdom teeth surgery, which had me resting for about a week. But here is the new chapter and guess what? The night is still not over. I know, I've lost control of my life here, lol. But I hope you enjoy it. I hope you are all enjoying May and luckily, it is soon to be the weekend! Thank you! And as usual, I only own Dagny.**

Sigurd wondered why he was watching Dagny and Hvitserk dance across the great hall. He told himself it was to ignore Ivar, who was sitting beside him at the table. But some of it was that she was quite good and even if she really wasn't, there was something about her that drew the eye anyway. Hvitserk took her by the arm and crushed their chests together, taking clear joy in it, while Dagny laughed. For a slave, Sigurd thought, she had always seemed quite happy.

Hvitserk's mouth was suddenly on hers, sloppy, fumbling, hungry. His fingers crept across her waist and her shoulder blades and her throat, casting a strange spell over her. In the next instant, she was away from him, grinning and twirling with her arms in the air, her fingers moving up and down one by one. She was flushed, the combination of the three goblets of wine Sigurd had seen her drink and Hvitserk's ministrations taking their toll.

Ivar slammed a glass down onto the large oaken table and Sigurd rolled his eyes. Ivar was a messy blend of anger, envy, and fear and it was so easy to tease him.

"Are you jealous, Boneless?" Sigurd asked, tilting the corner of his mouth up in a smirk. Ivar turned slowly, as if he thought Sigurd was actually waiting with bated breath for his, no doubt, terrible response. His blue eyes were narrowed. "You can't dance, can you?"

"Dancing is stupid," he replied through gritted teeth. His dirty fingers still had a harsh grip around that glass, contemplating throwing it.

"I guess it would be to someone who'll never be able to do it." Ivar snarled, baring his teeth in a way that Sigurd found no different from his usual smile. "I think I'll join her," Sigurd said, just because he could. Because Ivar couldn't.

"I don't care," Ivar responded, even as his eyes turned stormy. "She doesn't like you."

"No," Sigurd agreed. "She likes Hvitserk." Across the room, Dagny laughed and Hvitserk buried his face in the nape of her neck. She threaded her fingers through his long hair. Sigurd assumed she must have finally drunk enough to no longer care about Ivar's or anyone else's opinions. That was a good thing. Perhaps, she was wising up. "You have competition, brother. Or perhaps it is not a competition at all, for I think he has already won." Sigurd desperately wanted to lay Ivar low, tell him that at least Dagny could be sure that Hvitserk would satisfy her, that Ivar was no true man. But concern for Margrethe's life stayed his words.

Ivar turned, his handsome face a mask of rage. "You know nothing. All you do is talk."

Sigurd did not dignify that with a response. Instead he pushed away from the table and began to make his way to Dagny and Hvitserk. He'd given things some thought since that night at the cabin, since Margrethe had told him everything yesterday, and he knew he should speak with Dagny, even though he doubted she would listen.

Across the hall, Dagny was back in Hvitserk's arms, stumbling enough that he had to steady her. She looked over his shoulder, hazel eyes aglow, and her happy, half-moon smile faltered. She saw Ivar, with his clear eyes and tousled hair and violent temperament. Her hands closed around Hvitserk's sea green tunic, which only spurred a grin from him. Sigurd looked back to see Ivar watching Dagny, his fingers digging into the table and jaw clenched. Good. Sigurd made his way to Dagny and Hvitserk, whose hands were now linked together.

"Would you mind sparing Dagny for a dance?" he asked, tossing hair over his shoulder. Hvitserk narrowed his eyes, suspicious because Sigurd had never once shown interest in Dagny before. Dagny, to her credit, did not seem put off, even if her knuckles had gone white as bone.

"Of course, brother," Hvitserk responded, after looking to Dagny. He was well and truly under her thrall, thought Sigurd. Perhaps more so than Ivar. Perhaps enough to free her.

Hvitserk let her go and walked away, no doubt to find Ubbe and a glass of ale. Now that she was on her own, Dagny no longer appeared quite so brave. She seemed more a girl than a woman, more meek than bold. But she reached towards him anyway.

Why was he doing this? Why embitter himself to Ivar any further? Why warn a girl who was apparently too stupid to realize that she should be running? Sigurd didn't even like Dagny. She was calculating and pensive and sneaky, always watching from behind some door or tree and listening to things she shouldn't. Like Ivar. She was proud. She sometimes bucked against her mantle as a slave like a horse that should be broken, as if she was better than that. But, of course, that was Aslaug's fault. Most things that happened around Sigurd seemed to be Aslaug's fault.

Even though he didn't much care for her now and pretended to have forgotten it, that it meant nothing, Dagny had once been close to him. He supposed she had been to everyone in his family at one time or another, from Aslaug as a child to Ivar now and Hvitserk always. He would never term what they had as friendship but when he tried to think of another word that encompassed it, he came up blank. She had been small as a child, tiny and prone to sickness, and someone else would've sold her or left her to the woods on a snowy night but Aslaug had been taken with her, as she was all broken things. When she was weak and wasn't old enough to do the work of the other slaves, she'd been a companion to Aslaug's children. Sigurd supposed there was nothing unusual in that but still, there was part of him that remembered what she'd done. When Harbard came into town and everyone was under his thrall, Sigurd had seen through it. Dagny listened. When he took up the lute, Dagny listened. Even as they got older and drifted apart, Dagny was still kind. Her talents laid in quiet arts and she never used them maliciously. He could not name the times he was sure she had seen him doing something he shouldn't or something that would inevitably ruin his reputation. But she'd kept secrets for him, secrets that to this day, he was positive she had never shared.

So Sigurd owed her and if he had to be callous to make her listen to reason, he would be.

Sigurd took her hands. They were as coarse as his own, made tough by hard work, not by handling weapons. Not by playing the lute. She looked down at their linked fingers, as if insecure.

"What?" Sigurd cut out. The poor girl flinched. The length of her jaw was painted red with the stag's blood, with messy lines along her cheeks and chin. She looked down, as if remembering she was a slave and not his equal, and light flashed across the blood on her lips. For a moment, Sigurd wondered if Ivar could see it. He _hoped_ he could see it, his only ally who was not related, marked by another man.

"You have nice hands," she murmured. "The hands of a musician."

He scoffed. "I don't care for your flattery."

"Then why ask me to dance?" She was drunk, he could see that now. Her eyes watered and her cheeks were a somewhat flattering pink.

"To make Ivar angry." She flinched, as if she'd jerk away from him. It made him want to laugh. She would sit at Ivar's side at a feast, one of his hands on her waist and the other on an ax, not at all worried but Sigurd tightens his grip on her hands and she wants to bolt.

"Why?" Dagny muttered. Sigurd shrugged.

"Why I do anything is not of your concern. You're just meant to follow orders." She nodded.

"What do you want me to do?" Her voice was small, meek, and her hazel eyes seemed to glaze over. He'd seen that before, when hunting. He'd seen it tonight when his mother held a blade to the sacrificial stag. It was a sign that a hunter's prey had registered that it was the target. It was fear. But there was also resignation in the set of her jaw and the way her fingers brushed his palms. She would do whatever he asked. And she would appear to do it gladly.

He grimaced. "No," he stated firmly. "I won't ask you to do anything like that. I'm not as _charmed_ by you as others. Dancing is more than enough."

Relief and then hurt flickered across her face for a fleeting moment before she gave him another wide smile. He didn't think she truly cared about his opinion of her, not when she had Hvitserk worshipping at her altar, but Dagny was soft. She liked niceties and pleasant words. Anything else cut her. She simply pretended it didn't.

"You should be careful, Dagny," he said. They came together and Dagny turned her head so that their cheeks would meet. She was cold, despite the fire and the ale and Hvitserk's attentive kisses.

"I am careful every day," she whispered, pulling back. She twirled once more and smiled. He watched her, with her hands in the air and the blood on her collar, and for a singular moment, he saw what his brothers saw in her. When she returned to him, Sigurd fumbled his grip of her hands.

"Have you spoken to Margrethe?" Sigurd could feel Ivar's wolfish eyes on them, trying to burn him from the inside out. It made him smirk.

Dagny's face leeched of color. "No. She won't speak to me. But then, we are not friends."

Sigurd laughed. "I don't suppose you would be." Dagny let go of him to allow the back of her hands to travel down his arms. It was as if she was preparing him for the ritual she'd just performed. "Well, she is my friend and she told me what happened and I think you should know."

Dagny closed her eyes. It might have been for a myriad of reasons but her bottom lip quivered and Sigurd thought she was actually scared of what he might say. All the more reason for her to know.

"He hurt her." Her eyes opened and she nodded. This was something she expected.

"I know," she said.

"Do you know why?" The back of her knuckles dragged down his forearms again. She flipped her hands just in time to take his.

"No," she muttered, though it was an answer that seemed to be a lie.

"He couldn't do it." Her eyes flashed. "He can't satisfy a woman." Her grip seemed to slide and tighten and her face paled further, if that was possible. "She talked her way out of it, blamed herself. Apparently, he blamed her too because she wasn't who he wanted. That's what kept him from killing her."

She took a ragged breath and came in closer, so close that their chests met. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Why do you think?" he asked, in a tone that called her foolish. Anyone who could get this far into trouble and not see it certainly was. "He'll kill you, Dagny. The moment he realizes the fault isn't Margrethe's, he'll cast blame on you and you will be dead. I should think that would be obvious to you."

"What would you have me do, Sigurd?" she asked, her breath warm against his ear.

"Act like you don't want it, for if you do not, you have made a poor show of it thus far."

"That would change nothing." Sigurd conceded that that was true. Ivar was like a child, spoiled and petulant. If he wanted something, he was given it. Dagny would be no different. She was a prize and worse, one he was more than entitled to. "And I cannot lie," she murmured. Sigurd shivered as she pressed close to him again, as he saw Ivar over her shoulder, digging a knife into the table. It was impossible.

"You're drunk, Dagny," he said. "We all know it is Hvitserk you want. All our lives, that has been clear. Even Ivar knows it. Your kindness to Ivar has been a gift to him, something he doesn't deserve. You should stop playing his game. I will tell him to leave you alone, that you don't want him."

She slid from his arms and twirled once more. This time when she stopped, she shook her head at him once. It was a condemnation of everything he thought he knew.

"You cannot be serious," he hissed. Sigurd couldn't fathom any woman caring for Ivar, unless they desired to be killed. Did Dagny wish for death? Was she genuinely mad?

"Why do you believe Ivar is incapable of being loved?" When she grabbed his hands, he drew her near. He thought about shaking her. All the while, Ivar just watched, a hawk surveying a pair of mice and deciding which one he might devour.

"You don't know him, Dagny. Not as I do. I don't wish to light your funeral pyre."

"Sigurd-" she began, her voice suddenly soft. Which he didn't want. He did not want her to like him. He wanted her to listen.

"I don't see why you would desire him anyway. Margrethe has proven that he can't please you or any woman." He knew he sounded cold by the way her eyes narrowed.

"There are _many_ ways to please a woman," she replied. Dagny was just tall enough to look down on him and in that moment, she seemed to stretch herself even taller.

"Perhaps," Sigurd replied, staring into her dark eyes. "But he knows none of them. Nor do you." She shuddered, embarrassed, her damnable pride at work. "And he doesn't really care for you. He is incapable of it. He is crazy. And you are a slave."

"Tell that to Margrethe," she spit out, all trace of her normal shyness gone. "Just because I am owned does not mean I am not cared for."

"Yes! By Hvitserk or Ubbe or even my terrible mother. But not a mad and coddled boy who would discard you as he has his many other toys." Dagny's gaze turned stormy, the blood on her face suddenly a form of war paint.

"You are cruel, Sigurd," she muttered. She came close and their chests met but she pulled away just as quickly.

"Indeed, I am," he hissed. "You should be grateful for it. You should be grateful that you do not belong to Ivar and Ivar alone. That is all he wants from you, to be a captive audience. A captive friend."

"Then it is not a chore. I am glad to do it." He rolled his eyes.

"Do you know why he's attracted to you at all? Because you look like our mother. That is all. You remind him of Aslaug, the only person who's ever cared for him!"

A muscle feathered in her jaw, the only sign that she was affected by what he said, but he knew it had cut through the haze of the night and her inexplicably good mood. In truth, Dagny bore little resemblance to the queen. That she was tall for a woman was the only thing they had in common. He'd said it to hurt her, to make her think twice. But part of him regretted the words.

"What happened to you, Sigurd?" she murmured, drink giving her nerve. "When you were a boy, you were so kind. I know you still must be, that this malice and spite is a mask."

"You know nothing about me," he scoffed. "And if you want to die, I do not care. You're as mad as he is, if you won't listen to reason."

Dagny yanked her arm away from him, stumbling a bit backward. She kept her hand raised and Sigurd had a sudden fear that she might strike him. Muscle corded in her arms, strength she most likely didn't know she had, built up from lifting and carrying and dragging. In a fight, she might be decent.

"I owed you," he admitted. "For listening all these years. But now my debt is paid. If you will not heed what I've said, that is your fault."

When he started to walk away, she said, "One day."

"What?" he asked sharply.

"One day, I will earn your respect." Miraculously, Dagny stood straight. Her black hair was a veil and her eyes were just as dark and she looked like she would be just as comfortable in battle as she would in this great hall. She was too good to be just a slave. Someone else would have punished her for that, on another day Sigurd might have punished her for her boldness, but this was a strange night and it was not yet over.

"I look forward to seeing you try," he responded.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey y'all! Sorry for the lack of update. I wanted this to be a super long chapter but I also wanted to put something up before I go to the beach for a week so that's how this happened. I figured something is better than nothing! And guess what? The night is finally over, lol. I hope you're all doing great. Thank you so much for all of your kind words and favorites and follows. It means so much to me! Thanks again and as usual, I only own Dagny.**

Ivar had come to the conclusion that dancing was a ridiculous way for anyone to spend their time. It was all pretense and protocol, form and figure, unnecessary touching combined with exhaustion. He figured all of this because, for some reason he pretended not to know, he had been watching Dagny dance all evening.

And even though it was a pointless activity with no real benefit to Ivar's knowledge, he was still envious of those who could do it.

Dagny was now dancing with Ubbe, a comfortable familiarity between them that Ivar didn't think had been there for her with either Hvitserk or Sigurd. She had not once spun away, that white gown flaring out around her feet, her hands in the air. Ivar was not even completely sure that she understood the dance. But he couldn't know. He had never paid attention to dancing before this night.

Even at this distance, he could see that Ubbe and Dagny were talking animatedly. Their hands were joined and their dance became just swaying so that they could more easily speak to each other. This, strangely, did not bother Ivar at all. Sigurd had seemed to slide a knife between his ribs and leave it there. Hvitserk was a numbness that came from knowing nothing can be changed. But Ubbe was Ivar's truest brother and he wondered, if in a way, Ubbe was Dagny's truest ally.

When they finally broke apart, after what seemed like years had passed, Ubbe clasped Dagny's forearm. It was a strange gesture for a prince to make to a slave, full of respect and understanding.

Moments later, Dagny slid into the seat beside Ivar. It was an exercise of self-control not to turn, not to be inexplicably enraged. Most of the night, she had been kissing Hvitserk. Perhaps an hour ago, Ivar had stopped tallying their amount. And now she sat down beside him, blood cracked across her face and smiling wide, like she thought he might be glad to see her.

Perhaps, he was glad to see her, even if he was sure that Dagny was poison made flesh.

"What are you doing here, Dagny?" he asked. She apparently did not take offense at his cold tone because she made no move to leave.

"Frankly," she replied, "I don't know." She squinted for a moment and tilted her head to the side, pondering her answer. "Actually, that is not true. I _do_ know."

Ivar wryly smiled. "How much have you had to drink?"

She sighed, starting to drum her fingers against the table top. "Not enough."

"Are my brothers such awful dancers?" Ivar thought it would make her laugh but Dagny's smile quickly faltered and her fingers kept pounding against the table. It was anxiety, fear, perhaps even dread. "You are nervous about something."

She nodded, making herself link her hands together. "I am." She gestured across the hall to Hvitserk, who was grinning and laughing with Sigurd. Ivar conceded that there was something to Hvitserk that most people liked, something he didn't possess. He was handsome, pale and long-haired and sturdy, a warrior from a saga. A trickster tempered by kindness. Ivar didn't care whether he was liked. That did not matter, he told himself. It did not matter at all. But when he saw Hvitserk, not noble like Ubbe or sensitive like Sigurd or brutal like himself, he wondered what it would be like. Likability was Hvitserk's defining trait. He was never starting arguments nor was he finishing them. He was quiet, like Dagny. And even when he did something wrong, no one ever turned against him. Ivar, though mean and callous and selfish beyond measure, could see why Dagny cared for Hvitserk. He wished he couldn't.

"Why?" Ivar bit out. "Don't you want him?" Blood bubbled beneath his skin, roiling and hot like the sea before a storm. _Tell me you don't,_ it seemed to say. And below that, a smaller but more selfish voice whispered, _Please._

She turned, a völva of the stories, a Valkyrie, a maiden of death. "I do." Dagny was at least honest, even if she had been drinking ceremonial wine. "But I am so nervous that I think I will be sick."

Ivar wanted to tell her it was the drink making her head swim but she wore the same expression he had only days ago; a sort of wide-eyed childish look. If it were anyone else, he would have laughed. "You want me to tell you it is nothing."

"No, I want you to tell me what it is like." This felt like a trick, as if Margrethe had revealed to her all details of that evening and Dagny wanted to rend a confession from him. But Dagny, though clever, was never malicious.

"It will be different for you than it was for me. Hvitserk looks like a wolf that has missed many meals. He has coveted you for a long time." He paused. "You'll enjoy it."

"Margrethe is a fool," she murmured, voice so low that Ivar wondered if she had even spoken. Her fingers began drumming against the table again.

"On that, we can agree," he said and Dagny smiled at him.

"I have known this was coming for years and I have been prepared for it. But now the time is here, I don't think I can do it." She rested her head in her hands, a strangely informal movement, and it scared him because it belied trust. She hadn't come to talk to him to find out the truth of what happened with Margrethe or even because he could offer her advice, she'd come because she liked him. "I'm afraid I don't have the nerve."

Ivar sighed. "You are drunk, Dagny." She looked over at him, chin still resting in her hands, and her expression made him want to laugh. It was as if she had never heard the word. "Hvitserk won't do anything this night because of that. He likes you too much."

Part of him wanted to scare her and say Hvitserk would take what he wanted no matter her protestations but it wouldn't be true. Hvitserk could be a rake but he had bided his time, waiting for Dagny. Why do that if she was not special to him? And Dagny was spellbound by him. Ivar found that he couldn't lie to her.

She let out a breath and her shoulders slumped. "You're relieved?" Ivar asked, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

"I shouldn't be but I am." Dagny rubbed her eyes.

Ivar, sensing that neither one of them cared to talk about Hvitserk any longer, asked a question he was sure he knew the answer to. "What did Sigurd want with you?"

Dagny wryly smiled and gave him a look. "What do you think? He warned me away from you."

Ivar shrugged. "I thought, perhaps, he wanted to play music for you." Dagny's face lit up and she laughed. It was the most ridiculous and yet most lovely sound he'd ever heard. Something that might cause longships to run aground. And all for a joke that Ivar didn't find particularly funny.

"What?" he said when he noticed she was still staring at him. Her hazel eyes turned dreamy and a dull ache seemed to pound through his chest. "Are you considering taking his advice?"

"I like it when you smile," she replied. He hadn't even realized he _was_ smiling. "And I will never take his advice."

Ivar simply looked at her, that ache becoming something he dreaded would turn into a never-ending throb. He wanted to know why she was that foolish, why she appeared to care for him at all, why she ignored everything else other people said. A large part of Ivar feared that it was all a front and Dagny was yet another scared girl, afraid of what he might do if she rejected him. But another part of him knew that no one would court someone they were scared of this efficiently. Dagny seemed fearful of nothing at all.

But what did it matter? He could do nothing for her anyway.

"What are you thinking about?" Dagny questioned. She was, yet again, propping her chin on her hand, staring at him. Ivar could see a flash of red along her collarbone inside her dress. His nails dug into his palms hard enough to almost draw blood. He was sick of drowning, of burning alive, of seemingly suffocating beneath Dagny's dexterous hands and waist-length black hair and warm gaze.

"I wish I could dance," he confessed before he could think better of it. Dagny raised her eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked, as if he'd said he wished he were a seer. Still, her whole expression changed into some mix of sympathy and caring.

"Because it is normal." _Because I want to dance with you._

Dagny smiled. "But you aren't normal."

"Yes, I am," he replied petulantly.

"No, you're not. You're different." Her tone said that wasn't a bad thing to be but Ivar knew it was. His whole life he understood that it was bad to be as he was. "If you were _normal_ , you wouldn't be who you are."

"And _who_ I am is something to be envied?" Dagny shrugged and pushed hair out of her face.

"I think so." Ivar leaned close to her, close enough to kiss her, and even though he knew nothing may come of it, he _wanted_ to kiss her. He wanted to bruise her lips beneath his own, to touch her pale skin, to thread his fingers through her hair. "You are a son of Ragnar," she declared, as if that was all there was to it.

"Ah," Ivar said, "it is not me or my brothers who you are so fond of. It is our father." Ivar expected her to blush and be embarrassed but Dagny only grinned.

"In his day, of course." She said it jokingly but Ivar thought it was rather clear that Dagny did adore Ragnar, perhaps more so than his own sons did. This wasn't truly strange to Ivar, not when many things he had heard painted Ragnar as fair and charming. His father was the sort of magnetic hero people enjoyed hearing about.

"I'll take you to meet him and he can tell you the stories himself." Ivar wasn't sure why he said it, just that it seemed like the thing to do, and by Dagny's reaction, it certainly was.

Dagny was suddenly sober, her eyes the color of some forest that caused men to wander off the path and vanish. "You would do that?" It occurred to Ivar that Dagny had rarely ever been given anything resembling a gift. Once, Ubbe had given her a fine cloak, warm and the color of a fawn, when he had seen that her other was falling to pieces. It hadn't been a castoff or already old. It was elegant and warm and big enough for her to grow into because Ubbe had taken her height into account. Ubbe said he feared she might start crying when he gave it to her. Ivar had the oddest sensation that the same thing was about to happen now.

"Yes," he said. "Ragnar always wants to meet beautiful women who are half in love with him." At that, Dagny did blush and it was satisfying to him in the worst way. "I am his favorite son, after all."

It was a lie, of course. Ragnar had come to Ivar only after his other, able-bodied sons had turned him down. He knew that Ragnar had left him to the forest as a baby to die and that Aslaug was the only reason he was alive today. Despite that, Ragnar sometimes seemed taken with him.

"That does not surprise me," Dagny said. "I adore your brothers, Ivar. They can all be kind and gentle and understanding. Even Sigurd, though he may hide it. But _you_ are Ragnar's true heir."

"You make this declaration without even knowing my father," Ivar stated but his chest tightened anyway.

"I know the stories. I know them all by heart. And Ragnar's cleverness, ruthlessness, has its heir in you."

Ivar wanted to respond but he seemed to choke. Wasn't this what he was always telling himself? Wasn't this the truth?

Ivar was so deep in thought, so deep in conversation with Dagny, that he did not notice Hvitserk come around the table. Dagny didn't either. She was close enough to Ivar for him to take her in his arms. She didn't appear to notice anything else in the hall but Ivar.

Hvitserk had an arm around her waist in the next instant, his face buried in the crook of her neck. And though Ivar could see that Dagny fought the emotion every step of the way, she enjoyed it. She smiled and leaned into him and when he went to kiss her, Ivar saw her fingers twitch with longing to touch him. It wasn't the effect of ceremonial wine or the sacrifice or knowing that Hvitserk could go to sea tomorrow and never return. It was unabashed want, reckless desire. Dagny may have tried to hide it, to bury it beneath other thoughts, but it was plain to anyone watching her.

Ivar found himself thinking that if she were free, Hvitserk could marry her. They could have a ceremony in the forest and have flowers in their hair and have their wrists wrapped with ribbon and stand beneath a bower of greenery. It would be light and pleasant and everything Dagny probably wanted.

But Dagny peeked at him, over Hvitserk's shoulder, and all images of loveliness faded away in favor of stormy seas and forest undergrowth. Ivar couldn't marry. He couldn't have children. He couldn't be anything close to a regular man. But he still thought about a free Dagny pushing Hvitserk away and reaching for him instead, sitting with him, training with him, sharing a bed with him, even if nothing would ever come of it.

"Come join Ubbe and I," Hvitserk said to Dagny. Ivar heard the huskiness to his voice, how oddly out of breath he sounded.

Dagny grinned at him, her mouth still perilously close to Hvitserk's. "Sure. I'll be there in a moment."

And then Hvitserk was kissing her again, in a way that Ivar would call hungry. Dagny apparently could no longer weigh down her arms because she put her hands to Hvitserk's face and held him there far longer than necessary. It made Ivar vaguely sick. Hvitserk pulled away and was gone without sparing a glance towards Ivar.

Dagny sighed, though it wasn't the languorous, heartsick kind Ivar expected. "He apparently does not care about what anyone else thinks," she said, as if kissing her in front of Ivar was a point of regular frustration with Hvitserk.

"No," Ivar agreed. But he knew it was a competition and that Hvitserk was winning. "Go on, go dance with them."

The words sounded meaner than he intended but Dagny did not care. Her fingers caught his chin when he turned to look away from her and Ivar thought about boats rocking back and forth, men losing their balance, falling overboard.

"I'll dance with you," she murmured, "anytime you wish."

Ivar knitted his brows in confusion. "What?"

"You said you wanted to dance." Dagny's fingers fell away from him for what felt like a long time before she took both of his hands in hers. "I am not very good at it but I'll show you."

"Dagny…" he started, his throat tight.

"You don't need your legs," she declared, as if she was the one who had created the dance and therefore, could decide exactly how it was done. "It is all in the hands."

A beat passed before he nodded. Dagny grinned, a smile that belonged on a fox, and she pulled away. Ivar had the thought that she should probably drink more often.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey! I'm so sorry for the long wait! I've started another job this month so I'm sorta working two jobs (but the hours only amount to one part-time job so I don't really know why I'm complaining). So I've been pretty busy this month. I hope you're all doing well! Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and faves! It means so much to me! As usual, I only own Dagny.**

Ivar watched from the shore as Hvitserk and Bjorn readied to leave. His mother was standing on the docks, speaking with Dagny and Ubbe. Even from this distance, he could see how tense Dagny was, that she thought she didn't belong there. But when Hvitserk came to tell them goodbye, it was clear that he thought mainly of Dagny. Aslaug was given a hug and Ubbe was given less than that. Dagny may as well have been his wife for all the consideration he showed her.

The entirety of last night, Ivar thought Hvitserk sloppy and erratic but when Hvitserk bent to kiss Dagny now, it was slow and deliberate. Dagny's hands were beneath his cloak, keeping his chest on hers. Ivar let out a ragged breath.

He pretended that he didn't know how Dagny had fallen asleep tucked between Hvitserk and Ubbe on the floor of the great hall, face nuzzled against Hvitserk's neck. If Ivar was lucky, she didn't remember it.

But he doubted that she could forget dressing Hvitserk this morning. Ivar heard him ask her, his voice still foggy with sleep, and from the crooked grin on his face, Ivar had known that it was surely a ploy to kiss Dagny while half-undressed. Not that she would mind. Not that Ivar minded. There was no reason for him to care.

Hvitserk pulled away and stood there for the briefest moment, apparently searching for the right thing to say. _Say nothing,_ some voice in Ivar demanded. It was answered. Hvitserk only put his hand to Dagny's cheek once more and disappeared into the crowd of raiders. Ubbe elbowed her when they turned to leave the dock. Ivar knew it was impossible but he thought he heard her laugh and for the first time, he was jealous of Ubbe.

Dagny was at his side minutes later, Ubbe stolen away by Margrethe. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching the longships leaving the harbor. For a moment, Ivar just looked at her. Her long, dark hair whipped about her in the wind and her chin was lifted, as if pretending to be confident might make it so.

"You care for him," Ivar said, though it was more snarl than intelligible speech. But as usual, Dagny understood.

Dagny let out a breath but her eyes appeared distant, like she was still in Hvitserk's embrace. "Yes," she said. "But I care for you all."

"You're special to him," Ivar replied but there must have been that mean tone to his voice because Dagny scrunched her nose. Sometimes he was callous without intention.

"I am not a fool," Dagny said, watching Hvitserk's ship enter deeper water. Ivar thought she must be trying to burn the image into her mind, the way she did not stop staring. "I don't think he loves me."

"That wouldn't make you a fool," Ivar murmured but she was so high above him that he doubted she heard. But her expression softened. Ivar wondered that she did not disguise how willing she was to take any scrap of the barest kindness he threw before her and tuck it away, like a valued prize. If Ivar wanted to manipulate her, he would know just how to do it. She was lucky that Ivar liked her. "Still, you are worried about him."

"When I should be worried about you?" she replied. She pushed hair behind her ear and Ivar's fingers twitched. He wanted to do that.

"Are you saying you are not?" he asked, unsure of what he wanted her response to be. If she worried, it meant that she cared. But it also implied that she didn't have faith in him. He wasn't sure what was worse.

"Hvitserk is… pleasant and easygoing." Not the highest praise, in Ivar's opinion. "It is easy to be nervous for him."

"And I am cruel and mean and battle is my place." Dagny smiled because she was clever and she had taken his measure long ago.

"Left with nothing else, I think you would still rip out your enemy's throat with your teeth. I am unsure of what Hvitserk would do." Her arms tightened around her torso, like she could remember how soft Hvitserk truly was. Ivar once again recalled the image of her on the floor of the great hall, wedged between Hvitserk and Ubbe. It was a picture he did not care for.

"He's not a child."

"I know that." Her voice held the most firmness Ivar had ever heard her speak with.

Ivar tilted his head to the side. "Something else is bothering you. What is it?" Her fingers dug into her upper arms.

"I had a dream last night." A chill washed over Ivar. His mother had said the same thing to him earlier. That his voyage with Ragnar was doomed and if he went, he would drown. In truth, he did not care, despite his fear of the water and the feeling that bordered on admiration for Ragnar. Going to England was something he had to do, particularly after the disastrous night with Margrethe. He _had_ to be good at something. He _had_ to have value. But Aslaug was rarely wrong.

"I don't see how you could've slept well enough to dream, what with you wedged between my brothers last night. Surely, they kept you busy." Dagny flinched and Ivar immediately wanted to take the words back because he could see now that whatever she dreamed, she feared would come to pass. She was sickly pale and the skin beneath her eyes appeared bruised. "Was it about Hvitserk?" he asked, thinking her worries for him must be well-founded.

She shook her head quickly. Ivar's fingers dug into the sand and his teeth started to ache from clenching his jaw so hard. If Dagny said she'd seen him drown, his death would be all but confirmed. And oh, how he hated the water.

"I believe this raid will be Ragnar's last," she finally said.

"You've seen him die?" Ivar demanded. "How? Did he drown?" The ships would go down in a storm, that's what his mother had dreamed, leaving he and his father to the wrath of the sea.

She shook her head once more. "I saw serpents. A great many of them."

Snakes did not seem likely to Ivar, especially if, as according to Aslaug, they would never make port. "It was just a dream," he said dismissively. Dagny finally stared down at him, taking in his dark hair and large eyes, and again he had the sensation that she was trying to fix the image in her mind.

"Yes," she allowed. "It probably was."

"Follow me," Ivar commanded and Dagny did as she was told, wandering behind him along the beach.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Don't you remember? I made you a promise last night." Ivar looked behind him and Dagny had her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose, staving off a headache that she had earned in full the night before.

"In truth, I remember very little of last night." That brought Ivar both joy and pain because she had seemed extremely happy, especially happy with him. "Though I recall being the one to have made a promise to you."

"Well, that is not what we are doing today," he responded, a little too quickly, because the way Dagny said she would dance with him last night had been running through his mind all morning. "I'm taking you to meet my father."

Ivar was glad that he'd made a point to be looking at her when he told her because Dagny seemed to flip through a range of emotions before settling on the perfect reaction; excitement. "Ah, yes," she said, smiling wide. "I do remember that now."

Dagny told him that she'd met Ragnar twice before, both times in passing. She did not mention her opinion of him but then, Ivar supposed she didn't have to. She admired his father and the thought of his death clearly sickened her. When they caught sight of the king, Dagny even took the time to push her hair out of her face, when she so normally liked hiding behind it.

Ragnar sat near the edge of the forest, an unusual place for him but it was private and allowed him to plan. Ragnar was one of the few who didn't indulge Ivar his every whim, which Ivar generally respected, but in this instance, he genuinely hoped his father would do him this favor.

Ragnar looked up, in the midst of sharpening a blade. Dagny froze, her hand against her stomach, nerves apparently roiling in her stomach.

"Father," Ivar began, crawling closer, "this is Dagny, my slave." Ivar shifted to sit with his back against a tree and gestured to Dagny, who looked like she might blurt out that Ragnar was doomed to die.

Ragnar tilted his chin up and took her in. It was a long, roaming look and Ivar thought the sun might have set and risen once more when Ragnar finally spoke. "Yes, I believe we have met." Ivar was still not familiar enough with Ragnar to know all of his tells but he was sure that his father found Dagny desirable. It was, Ivar assumed, a family trait. Besides, he had stolen slaves away from Aslaug before, hiding one away in a cottage just outside of Kattegat. He had a reputation and he had a type. Dagny fell into it.

"She loves to hear your stories and as she is _my_ favorite," Ivar emphasized, "I told her that you could tell her the tales yourself."

Ragnar laughed, a powerful sound. " _Your_ favorite?" Ivar nodded once. "Well…" he said, as if giving the idea a great deal of thought, and smirked. "Of course, I will tell you anything."

Ivar kept his hand out and a beat passed before Dagny took it. Ivar found himself recalling how she takes off his braces, how her hands always feel so nice against his skin. When she sat down beside him, he did not let go. Perhaps he would drown in the days to come, perhaps not. But he was going to do whatever he wanted no matter the outcome.

"What is your favorite?" Ragnar seemed unbalanced, perpetually leaning closer and leaning back, a strange sort of grin on his lips. But whatever it was, his strangeness charmed Dagny because she smiled, the sort of expression that Ivar imagined would disarm even the nastiest person, including himself.

There were many options. Ivar's favorite was Ragnar's first raid of Paris. He liked tales of fighting and treachery and desperation, none of which did he think would appeal to Dagny.

"Would you tell me about Athelstan?" she asked. Ragnar's expression dimmed slightly and then brightened. Of course, Dagny would want to hear stories of a man who was once a slave holding the affection of the greatest man in Kattegat. It was something for her to aspire to.

"Athelstan was my greatest friend," Ragnar began and continued on from there, starting with stealing Athelstan on raid and subsequently freeing him and all of the rest of their strange adventures side-by-side. Ivar couldn't remember Athelstan but Aslaug had hated him and rightfully so, to Ivar's mind. He was a Christian and after his death, Ragnar had become a Christian too, however briefly. Still, Ivar could tell how much Ragnar had loved him, how much he had relied on him.

Ivar turned to watch Dagny, her hand still in his. Her eyes were wide with admiration, with something like love. The Three Spinners weaved their fates, Ivar thought, and sometimes, they allowed history to repeat.

Dagny laughed at something Ragnar said and Ivar laughed too, if a little sardonically.

While Ragnar was talking, Ivar desperately hoped that what Dagny had seen would never come to pass. Maybe it wasn't love he felt for his father but it was close enough.

* * *

Ivar sat in front of Dagny's cabin for a long time before he ever got up the nerve to knock. The door was barely on its hinges and had no lock so he supposed he could just crawl in but he decided to knock anyway. In the next instant, the door was open and Dagny was standing in the frame. Her dark hair was unbound and she was wearing a dressing gown that Ivar felt sure had once belonged to his mother. On neither one of them did it reach the ground. A good part of her lower legs showed. He didn't know how long he must've looked at them.

"Ivar," she said and he forced himself to drag his gaze higher than the pale skin of her calves. She rubbed her eyes forcefully. "It is the middle of the night. Are you all right?"

What a question and one he most certainly did not have an adequate answer for.

He brushed past her instead. Dagny sighed in response, an exasperated noise that said she was used to him, and shut the door. It was cold inside the cabin, Dagny having wedged old cloths into a couple of gaps in the wood. But it didn't appear to bother her.

Ivar dragged himself over to Dagny's bed and climbed onto it. It wasn't comfortable but was still warm and it smelled like her, earthy. At that, Dagny crossed her arms, seemingly needing to do something with her hands.

"Where's the girl who shares this with you?" Ivar asked, after seeing the empty bed across the room. Dagny rubbed her eyes again.

"Asdis is angry with me so she has decided not to talk to me for a few days." Her shoulders tensed. It bothered her. He would have asked what Dagny could have possibly done to make her angry but Ivar thought it was obvious.

"Forget her." It was what he would do. Dagny nodded but she would do no such thing. "Sit with me." She took her time crossing the small room and finally sat beside him, so close that their legs touched. "I have something for you."

Her hazel eyes widened. "You have already let me speak to your father. What else could you possibly have to give me?" Her tone was good-natured, so strangely happy in fact that Ivar actually smiled at her.

"I'm leaving on raid tomorrow and I gave you a command. You have to be able to fulfill it." Dagny's eyebrows came together in confusion. Ivar took in a shaky breath and cursed himself for it. What reason did he have to be nervous? He reached along his belt and pulled out a small axe, a hatchet really. It was dark in Dagny's cabin but it still looked like light shone upon the blade. He thrust it at Dagny and she fumbled to grip the handle.

"Did you make this?" she asked, voice low, as she held it out in front of her to look at it more clearly. It appeared to be a good weight for her, not too heavy.

"No," Ivar said, even though he had made it. He'd paid to make it when he paid the blacksmith to make him crutches. "If someone touches you, you take this and aim it here." He leaned over and dragged his finger along the side of her neck. Her pulse was racing. "They will die. Try it."

Dagny took the axe and slowly made a line through the air, the blade resting at his throat. It wasn't very good but then, Dagny _was_ a slave and had to appear like she had no desire to hurt him. Maybe she secretly did want to kill him but Ivar hoped not. He did not want to have to kill her.

He grabbed the axe from her and swung it at her neck quickly, so fast that Dagny flinched, thinking he might actually cut her throat. But she took a deep breath, the blade moving against her throat. He'd made it so sharp that it actually nicked her skin. A line of blood slid down her pale skin, so dark against something so light, and Ivar's chest tightened with want. He let out a breath, a choking sound that he hoped Dagny ignored for his dignity, and flipped the axe so that the handle was towards her.

"Do it again." She watched him, her eyes slightly hawkish, and brushed away some of the blood on her neck. Ubbe had lied. She did know what she was doing.

Dagny was quicker this time but still didn't have the strength she most likely needed. He made her do it over and over until the memory of wanting to kiss her throat no longer blinded him. He made her aim at his chest and his sides and throw the axe across the room until it lodged in the plank of wood he wanted her to target. Dagny showed promise.

Her chest was heaving with exertion and she leaned back on the bed beside him, as if this were something she did every day. She lifted the axe above her, trying again for a really clear view. "But I cannot have this, Ivar," she said. "Slaves are not allowed weapons. You could have me killed just for gesturing at you with this. And I have done far more than gesture."

Ivar rolled his eyes and took it from her, placing it beneath her mattress where the handle proceeded to dig into his back. "Then do not tell anyone." He laid back right beside her. The bed was so small that their sides were touching, Dagny scrunching up her shoulders in order to not bother him when this was her house and her bed. Her hair was in his face and under his head. It was clouding his judgment and his mind because he suddenly had no interest in going with his father to England in the morning. He just wanted to stay cloistered in this bed.

"Thank you," Dagny murmured.

"For what?" Ivar snapped. She turned on her side and faced him, her nose small and her cheekbones high. She was lovely and Ivar hated her for it because lovely things often did not last. Flowers were trampled underfoot, the sea could be disturbed by storms.

"For what you've done for me today. No one's- No one has ever thought about me like that. Like they paid attention." She tried to hide it but her voice revealed some sadness and it made Ivar extremely uncomfortable, that she might be telling him something no one else knew.

"I don't pay attention to you. The things you want are just obvious." She laughed.

"So you say," she replied. A moment passed, their breathing oddly in time, and Ivar took a deep breath.

"Are you worried for me?" She smiled but it did not reach her eyes.

"Yes, I'm very worried."

"You don't think I can do it." He looked away from her and to the ceiling, which he thought probably leaked.

Dagny sighed. "I think Ragnar has a terrible crew with him and though you are both competent, you will have to rely on the poorest raiders Kattegat has to offer. That is my concern."

She put her hand on his chest tentatively, like he was an animal that might bolt. He grabbed it. "What do you think drowning is like?" Dagny propped herself up with her other arm and thought about it. Ivar swallowed and hoped she didn't know why he was asking, that he didn't appear afraid.

"I fell through ice on the pond once a couple of years ago. Ubbe saved me." Ivar remembered that. Most people wouldn't have gone through the trouble of saving a slave but Ubbe very rarely showed any resemblance to most people. "It was a fight, you can feel your throat closing, and how quickly you are losing your breath without being able to catch it." Which is how he felt when he looked at Dagny, at war with his own mind, his own body. "But then it becomes rather peaceful. Ubbe got to me at the right moment but otherwise, I think I might have all right with it. There are worse ways to die than to drown."

The skin around her eyes crinkled and her grip on his hand tightened. She remembered that Ivar could not swim.

"Stay away from the water," she said. "And stay away from snakes." He brought her hand to his mouth in response, his lips against her skin. She took in a breath so sharply that he thought he'd hurt her and he flipped over. He put his arms on either side of her, caging her in. Dagny looked up at him like this new development had been her intention all along.

"What do you want, Dagny?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied. He wasn't asking about Hvitserk. That was a conversation he would never be ready to have because he feared the answer. And besides, it meant nothing.

"I mean right now. At this very moment."

Dagny took a deep, steadying breath and put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes dropped to his lips for the briefest moment. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

"Ah, me and _not_ my father," he teased, to keep his arms from quivering, to keep from giving in and devouring her.

She laughed and her fingers crept up his neck. Ivar felt his skin prickle. "You'll be better than him one day," Dagny said, grinning. "There's no need to compare yourself."

Ivar smirked down at her. He wanted to put his mouth on her throat and her collarbone and between her thighs. "Sometimes, Dagny, I wish you were free," he said. He read hope on her features. That must be what she truly desired. "Then I would know if the things you say to me are true."

There was a pause, where Dagny's hands shook and she appeared the worst sort of nervous. Then she replied.

"You would own me, even if I was free." Ivar crushed her lips beneath his. Dagny made a noise in the back of her throat and one of her hands cupped his cheek, the other wrapping around his shoulders to bring him down closer to her. He wondered when anyone had done that, when anyone had been that tender with him because they wanted to, not because they were afraid of what he might do.

He bit her lower lip and traced the line of her throat with his teeth. Dagny arched her back, her chest brushing his. Dagny was not just the gentle girl in the forest. She could be more.

Her fingers were in his hair and he was kissing her again. She brought her legs up on either side him and her dressing gown fell down her thighs to her waist. Ivar's hand crept up one and his fingers left an indent in her skin.

Dagny started untying his tunic, as if she'd had a plan. Kiss his lips, kiss his neck, and now she must kiss his chest.

Ivar suddenly saw through the fog of Dagny's pale skin and dark eyes and the way his hand had come along her side to be at her breast. Ivar pulled back from her agonizingly slow kisses and the way her teeth would graze his lip to put his head against her chest. Her fingers were still working against his skin, along the back of his neck and over the braces on his arms.

"I can't do this," Ivar murmured and there was such vulnerability in his voice that he cursed himself. Dagny tensed beneath him.

"I believe you can. I think Margrethe was too scared and did not care if you enjoyed it," she replied. But there was nothing in her voice that belied being upset with him or disappointed. "But if you can't, it doesn't make you less of a man. It does _not_ mean anything and it does _not_ change anything." Ivar's eyes began to burn and he remembered crying from frustration in front of Margrethe and how absolutely terrible that was. He did not want to cry in front of Dagny. He didn't want her to think him weak. "I still want to please you."

"It does make me less of a man," he muttered, even though _I still want to please you_ was echoing in his mind.

"You know, Ivar, to be so clever, you can often be quite foolish." He groaned, pretending to be angry with her. "No one who cares for you will ever mind that."

"I think I was feeling something," he admitted. Something he hadn't felt with Margrethe or even really thought about when he was with her.

"I told you," she whispered. He pushed away from her and kissed Dagny once more, so harshly that he felt his lips bruise. He let her wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. He let his heart race and his body relax. In moments, Dagny was asleep. He wondered how she could sleep when he couldn't focus on anything at all. It was terrible, the way she was pressed against him, her leg thrown over his like it didn't matter that he was crippled. The way her stupidly nice hands were gripping the fabric of his tunic. The way her breath was warm against his throat, sending something like shivers down his spine. Every inch of him felt tense.

"Dagny," he said and she let him go. He saw how the white gown slipped off her shoulder, tightened across her chest. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

"Are you all right?" she murmured, still sounding vaguely asleep. Once more that question he had no suitable answer for.

"I-" he started but then thought better of it. "Kiss me," he commanded. And she did. It was lazy and languorous and perhaps the most divine thing he'd ever experienced. Because Dagny was a gentle girl and maybe that is what Ivar needed; to be tempered by mildness.

Ivar did not sleep that night because he was feeling something and he wasn't sure whether he was happy about it.

* * *

Dagny, Ubbe, and Aslaug stood at the docks the next morning. She was once again nervous, particularly after Ragnar acknowledged her before boarding the ship. He was charming and beneath it all, Dagny thought he was kind. Even Aslaug had never truly said much against him, when she had much reason to.

Finally, Ivar reached the docks. He had sharp metal crutches which allowed him to appear like he was standing and a sword at his back. It gave Dagny eerie chills. He was tall, his hair was messy, he was dressed in leather and metal. He was handsome, which he always was, but something about working to drag his legs in the crutches had given him an edge she'd never seen before.

Once onto the wood of the dock, he fell and Dagny almost went to him but Ubbe pulled her back. Aslaug shook her head at them. She wanted him to do it on his own. When Ivar finally got up and made it to the ship, everyone seemed to collectively let out a breath.

He turned back once and Dagny made eye contact with him. She nodded. He nodded back. And even though it wasn't the normal way of things, she was sure, Dagny sent a prayer to the gods for his safety anyway.

When the boats were safely out of the fjord, Ubbe and Dagny were the only two left standing there. Aslaug had quite clearly been upset about things. Dagny hoped the queen hadn't had the dream she'd had.

She knew Ubbe wanted to talk and wanted her to be the one to initiate the conversation. He'd seen Ivar leave her cabin this morning. He'd seen how she looked.

"Do you remember the conversation we had on the beach?" she asked slowly.

"Of course," he replied. She turned to look at him. She took in his pale eyes and tawny hair and his unblemished skin.

"You said we were friends," Dagny muttered, already nervous about what she was going to ask.

"Dagny, we _are_ friends," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You can come to me with anything."

"Will you do me the greatest favor?"

"Yes," he replied. "If it is in my power to do it, I will."

"It is in your power." He raised his eyebrows expectantly and Dagny took a deep breath. "Will you teach me how to please a man?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi! Sorry for such a long wait on a chapter. Grad school just keeps me so busy. But I thought I'd give you a really long chapter in return! There is a little ~~~sexiness~~~ in this, just as a warning for those of you not into that. I wanted to put Lagertha's attack on Kattegat in but the chapter just got so sprawling and long so you have that to look forward to next time. Thank you so much for all of your kind words! I really appreciate them! I'm getting super excited for season 5! Hope you're all doing great! Thank you!**

Dagny thrust a bone needle through the sleeve of Aslaug's gown. The queen was across the room from her, pacing. Her behavior since Ivar left worried Dagny. She had been withdrawn when Aslaug was normally quite talkative and Dagny could see the shadows under her eyes and how her skin had become splotchy. It was out of the ordinary for Aslaug.

The needle pricked her finger and brought her back to the task at hand, which was an excellent thing. She wanted to think about anything that was not meeting Ubbe tonight after supper, _anything_. So she broke the sewing down into small increments and just repeated the steps over and over until the monotony made her forget concern for Aslaug or Ubbe.

Dagny liked Ubbe. She trusted him. Of everyone she knew, he seemed the most decent and kind. But it did not make this sort of thing any simpler.

This morning, she, Margrethe, Asdis, and Dotta had washed laundry and hung it. Not a single word had been spoken. Everything that was going on seemed to hang in the air above them and Dagny thought that at any moment it might have come crashing down. Asdis was coldest, which was entirely her specialty. Margrethe feigned at shyness but the looks she gave Dagny showed no timidity. Even Dotta, who Dagny hadn't spoken with plainly in many days, she had managed to offend by dancing with Sigurd in the great hall after the sacrifice. She had no one to speak to about anything. In fact, she had no one _but_ Ubbe and Aslaug. Sigurd had made it clear indeed that he had no interest in ever speaking with her again.

The needle poked her skin again and this time blood beaded. She sat Aslaug's dress aside, not wanting it stained. The queen looked her way, as if this moment was one she'd been waiting to seize upon.

"Are you all right, Dagny?" Aslaug asked. "You seem troubled." The queen walked towards her and turned her head to the side. It was an expression Dagny had seen Aslaug give a hundred times before to any of her children. It was rarely cast her way.

"No," Dagny replied. "I am fine. In fact, I have been worried about you."

The skin around Aslaug's blue eyes softened. Dagny had always found her beautiful in an unattainable sort of way and today was no different, even if the queen did appear pale. "Dagny, you have more than enough to worry about without concerning yourself with me." Dagny nodded, willing to leave the conversation there because she could concede that Ivar was Aslaug's favorite and fretting for him was natural. "Are you sure that you are all right?"

Dagny took in a sharp breath. And there were people who doubted that Aslaug knew things, she thought. "I've had a dream and I fear that it will come true."

The queen dropped to her knees before her and Dagny had to school her expression to not be one of shock. It was made even worse when Aslaug took her hand. "What did you see, Dagny? Did you see Ivar drown?"

"No," Dagny said emphatically, shaking her head because she could tell that the answer meant a great deal to Aslaug. But she thought of Ivar in her bed, his skin burning as if fire was just below the surface, asking her if she knew what it was like to drown. "But you did."

Aslaug, eyes rimmed with kohl and skin sallow, nodded. "The ships won't make it there." Dagny looked away from her as she felt her pulse start rising unsteadily. Aslaug was rarely, if ever, wrong in her predictions. They were always correct in some way. But if they drowned, Dagny's dream was just a dream after all. Something fueled by the haze of a sacrificial night. Neither option was good.

Something flickered across Aslaug's expression, a realization of some kind, and Dagny wanted to speak of kissing three of her sons less than she did their potential deaths. "I saw Ragnar, killed by snakes," she said quickly.

Aslaug's grip tightened on her hand. "Who have you told of this?" she asked, seemingly automatically believing that it must be true.

"You… and Ivar." The same knowing passed over Aslaug's face once more and Dagny felt herself pale. She wanted Aslaug's approval more than she cared a whit for Asdis or the others.

"Good," Aslaug replied. "He will keep it secret. Tell no one else of this, Dagny, do you understand me? No one. Not the other slaves, not Ubbe, not… Sigurd." Aslaug's eyes were knowing. Sigurd regularly proclaimed his mother a witch and did not believe there had ever been love between her and Ragnar. He wouldn't take Dagny's dreams well either.

The queen apparently thought this was of the utmost importance so Dagny nodded fiercely, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "Of course but… is there really any cause to believe it? I know I am being paranoid."

"Yes, there is cause. Significant cause." Aslaug's words were weighty, laden with the promise of foresight. Maybe she'd known that one day Dagny would become like her. Perhaps she'd even known the moment she laid eyes on her as a scrawny child at the slave market. "This can't be your first time." Dagny remembered dreaming of Hvitserk with his hands in Margrethe's hair and his mouth burning holes in her skin and seeing it happen in full the next day. It felt like she was a child again and Sigurd was teasing her before dumping a bucket of icy water down the back of her favorite dress. Suddenly, she was numb. Terrified, yet still numb.

"But you are a true seer," Dagny said, trying to be as respectful as possible because only one of them could be correct. "The ships would have to make ground for what I saw to come true… and you are always right." Her voice did little to disguise just how disappointed she was by that. Though Dagny had admired Ragnar for as long as she could remember, the thought of the snakes and unknown treachery was far better than that of Ivar beneath the sea.

"Perhaps, we are both right," Aslaug said. "Perhaps, Ragnar will survive the wreck to crawl ashore." Dagny nodded, yet the thought still made her sick. The queen's grip tightened once more and Dagny met her kohl-lined eyes. Freckles danced across Aslaug's high cheekbones and her hair curled in just the right manner. Dagny suddenly feared that this might be her last conversation with her. "You love my sons, don't you, Dagny?"

"Of course," she breathed. "Of course, I love them." Aslaug smiled weakly.

"And you would be loyal to them even without my influence."

"You know that I would. I would die for any one of your children." Aslaug shook her head.

"You're a good person, Dagny, and I should have freed you long, long ago." Dagny stiffened. "You were always so kind to my sons, even when they were mean to you. I watched you work your way into friendship with Ivar for years when others have always feared him. You don't know what that means to me."

"It was selfish, Aslaug," she admitted. It seemed important to be frank. "I have always wanted his approval. I have always wanted _your_ approval."

Aslaug smiled again, every inch a queen. "You have it, Dagny." It was final and Dagny understood then that this was indeed the last time she would speak with Aslaug plainly. It could be the last time she spoke to her at all.

"There must be something I can do for you. Tell me what to do. Should I make you something? A salve or some medicine?" she asked, for the queen could only be sick if she was speaking this way. Aslaug shook her head.

"I am fine, Dagny. Ragnar has just made me think on things I regret."

Dagny nodded and neither of them said anything else for the entire afternoon. She convinced herself that it was nothing, that Aslaug's strange behavior and their conversation was due to worrying about Ivar. As Dagny had done her best to push worrying for Ivar and Hvitserk to the back of her mind, she continued doing so. But this only meant that she was closer to facing Ubbe. Ubbe with his tan skin and kind smile and sturdy build. Ubbe with his bed of furs that had been visited by many of the slave girls Dagny knew.

At supper, she could not eat. She served with Margrethe and it was as if the blonde girl knew that Dagny was going to move against her once more. Ubbe gave her more than one reassuring smile, which made it all the worse. And Aslaug was still grave. Not enough to be noticeable to her sons, but then Dagny assumed Sigurd did not care and Ubbe could be as nervous as she was. She started to have a feeling in the pit of her stomach, an aching dread, and Dagny suddenly longed for the comfort that ax beneath her mattress brought her.

She cleaned plates and cutlery with a strange carelessness, so much so that Margrethe actually asked if she was all right. Dagny took one look at her, so simply beautiful that one could be fooled into believing she was nothing more. But Dagny knew Margrethe must be intelligent. How else had she gotten so far? So she did not share anything with Margrethe, even though part of Dagny desperately wished for a friend. Perhaps she had destroyed all hopes of that the night in the cottage, when Margrethe was terrified and Dagny had offered her nothing but jealousy. Today she was greatly sorry for it.

Ubbe was waiting for her when she finished. Dagny was relieved that Margrethe had already moved on to some other household chore because it felt like what they were about was incredibly obvious. They said nothing, only looked at each other for a moment. Dagny, in her finest dress because it seemed important to look nice, and Ubbe, in a cloak finer than anything Dagny had ever owned, his braid hanging down his back.

"You are certain?" Ubbe asked, for what was most likely the twentieth time. If it had been anyone else, Dagny would have felt like he wanted to be with anyone aside from her, but as it was Ubbe, it just seemed like nice manners.

"Yes," Dagny said, with a firm nod. He did not need to know that she felt sick or that she had not eaten. After all, she had asked him. Why was she so nervous?

Ubbe took her hand and they walked together to his room. Dagny had heard tales of men being walked to their execution and somehow, this felt similar. She looked up at Ubbe for the slightest moment. Other girls had always talked of Ubbe being handsome but it took years for Dagny to see past knowing him as a boy, patching up cuts and scrapes, fetching him weapons for training. But she saw it now. Even in the dark, he was so fair that it made her breath catch. If this were to be an execution, it would probably be a lovely way to die.

When they stopped at a door in the great hall, she knew this was it. Dagny took the deepest breath and followed him into the room. She began to close the door behind them when she saw Margrethe carrying a pile of laundry. They exchanged the briefest look but it said all manner of things. Dagny shut the door, pressed her back against it, and looked up to the rafters before surveying the rest of the room. Her life had become something even she didn't understand.

Dagny had been in Ubbe's room before, enough to have admired his large bed covered in fresh furs. He could turn over and not fall onto the floor. She and Asdis had often coveted it on those long winter nights where they slept side-by-side under piles of thin blankets and layers of clothes, listening to the howling wind.

Ubbe turned his back and unclasped his cloak. Dagny took the moment to steel herself. She thought of all the other girls who had stood in her place, Asdis included. They hadn't been scared and Dagny certainly hadn't been afraid to ask. She forced her shoulders back, made herself stand straight. If he knew that this unnerved her, it would be over before it could begin. Ubbe was that understanding.

He turned towards her, holding a cup of ale, navy tunic open at the neck so that Dagny could see a glimpse of smooth skin. He walked over and gave her the cup. She felt her fingers brush his. Something that would normally never mean a single thing to her had suddenly taken on a different cast.

"You should drink something," he said. Dagny took a sip at his nod. "It'll calm your nerves."

"You are not nervous?" she asked.

"Of course, I'm nervous," he replied. It was obvious from the kind set of his mouth and how he was currently rubbing the back of his neck with his hand that he was trying to make her comfortable. Trying to make her forget that he had done this many times before and had no reason at all to be anxious. Dagny took a gulp of ale.

"Thank you," she murmured, as it seemed like the correct thing to say.

"Dagny, I do not mean to disrespect you or to imply that I am not flattered, because I am, but why do you want to do this? Why not just let Hvitserk teach you? He is most eager." Her face blanched and Ubbe offered up a sympathetic smile, as if he had once been in her position. It was a laughable thought.

"I need to impress him, Ubbe."

"And Ivar as well?" Dagny sighed. Part of her thought she might manage to get through this without ever mentioning Ivar's name. But Ubbe had seen Ivar leave Dagny's cottage, he'd seen the look on her face that morning. He knew it was the real reason she'd asked.

"Yes," she said. "And you are, perhaps, the only person who will not think less of me for not knowing anything." Ubbe's eyebrows came together in confusion.

"No one would think less of you, Dagny." She smiled, her point proven.

"I feel as if I should ask you something before we… begin," she said. She finished off the ale quickly and set down the cup.

"Of course," Ubbe said. "Ask me whatever you wish. I want you to be comfortable with this."

"Do you love Margrethe?" Dagny hated how small her voice sounded and part of her hated Ubbe for being so accommodating that she would never know the truth of how he felt. He cocked his head to the side, as if Margrethe had no place in their conversation. Dagny found it to be the only question worth knowing the answer to.

"And if I do, why does that matter?" Ubbe's head was still to the side, exposing the smooth skin of his throat. Dagny felt her heart start racing at the thought of kissing him there. She wondered whether it was something he even enjoyed or just something she wanted to do.

"I should not have asked you to do this without knowing your feelings." Ubbe shook his head, his lips parted in the smallest smile.

"We are Viking. Sharing does not bother us."

" _I_ am not Viking. Nor is Margrethe." And the memory of her face when she saw Dagny close the door to Ubbe's room was something Dagny was not likely to forget. It made her tense, the thought that perhaps Margrethe favored Ubbe above the others, that doing this was another slight against her when Dagny had always thought the slaves should stick together. Dagny had been with girls like Margrethe and Asdis her entire life and she was likely to be stuck with them forever. To alienate them was to risk the only menial, true relationships she might ever have.

Ubbe took her hand and through her nerves, Dagny made herself meet his gaze. "You are not forcing me to do anything and it is none of Margrethe's concern what either of us do."

Dagny let out a ragged breath. "I just feel as if I've wronged her once too many times."

"How have you wronged her?" Ubbe let her hand go to cross his arms over his chest. He looked down at her, the only one of Aslaug's sons who truly could, but it was with concern rather than judgment. Every time Dagny began to doubt it, Ubbe proved that he did indeed want to be her friend.

Dagny shook her head. "I've thought her selfish and conniving and I've said things to her that were incredibly unkind, given what happened between her and Ivar." Ubbe arched a perfect brow.

"And what happened between her and Ivar? What has either of them told you of that night?"

"Frankly, nothing. Margrethe said she wanted to speak with me but I think he threatened her. I know she was scared." Ubbe nodded slowly. He knew more than Dagny would ever know, she thought. "It was Sigurd who spoke to me a few days ago and told me."

At that, Ubbe sighed, long and hard. "Of course he did." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Sigurd's hatred of Ivar something he apparently dealt with regularly. "But he should not have told you anything."

"Why not?" Dagny asked. Though the conversation with Sigurd had been peppered with exaggerations and outright cruelty, Dagny believed that he was genuinely concerned for her life. Part of her thought that _she_ should be more concerned about it.

"Sigurd wants to frighten you. He wants you to be so scared that you never cast eyes upon Ivar again. He does not want that only for your safety." Dagny nodded. Ivar had had ample opportunity to hurt her the other night and didn't do it. It was not a guarantee for her future safety but surely it was a positive sign. "We do not have to do this today, Dagny. They will be on raid for months. Perhaps, you should give it more thought."

"I have given it a great deal of thought, Ubbe. I would not have asked you otherwise. But again… I would like to say, if you do not want me, please do not feel as if you have to go through with this." It was a battle to make herself keep looking at him, not to stare down at the floor and await judgment. Though she'd rarely considered Ubbe in any kind of light beyond mere friendship, if he admitted that he bore no attraction to her, it would cut deep. Ubbe's approval meant a great deal to her. Occasionally it meant more than Hvitserk's, if only because Hvitserk was so easygoing.

Ubbe stepped toward her and Dagny made herself stand her ground. If she moved back, she would concede to him and to a raider, that was admitting defeat. So Dagny met his eyes. She had to look up at him, something that was rare enough as to be special to her. There was a set to his jaw and something in the way that he was looking at her that Dagny distinctly liked.

"The first thing you should learn, Dagny, is not to do this with anyone you don't desire," Ubbe said and his voice had taken on a heady tone. Again, Dagny liked it. "So do you desire me or am I convenient?"

She knew that Ubbe wouldn't mind either answer, whether she was a slave or not. Light seemed to bounce off of his high cheekbones, along the line of his throat and it turned him golden. When the skalds told stories of fierce and noble warriors, who slayed dragons and fell in love with grand women, they were speaking of someone like Ubbe.

"Yes," Dagny admitted quickly. "I desire you." He smiled, lips parted in perhaps the sweetest grin Dagny had ever seen. It was not hiding pain and anger, as Ivar's smiles so often did, nor was it the smirk of a fox, like Hvitserk's hungry grins. It was kind and freely given. Dagny wanted to tuck it away and remember it on days when she felt worthless. "And you desire me?"

Ubbe stepped forward again and they were chest to chest. Dagny thought of how she'd slept next to him only days ago and nothing about it had felt elicit, how they'd danced and clasped hands and she'd put her head against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be friends with him. Her heart was pounding so hard she knew he could feel it.

He unclasped her cloak and it fell off her shoulders with a satisfying swoosh. "Yes," he murmured. "I do." Dagny did not care if he was lying to protect her feelings. She wanted to believe it, even if this was only practice, even though they had no romantic feelings towards one another.

"Then tell me what to do," Dagny said. He was still smiling and it made her want to smile back.

"I think you should undo your hair." Ubbe placed his hand on the back of her neck beneath her braid and Dagny wanted so badly to flinch but she didn't. She could only seem to focus on how blue his eyes were, how his chest seemed to crush against hers. "It is lovely when it's down."

Dagny took a breath and nodded. She stepped back and felt for a moment like she could breathe once more before reaching for the end of her braid. But Ubbe was there again and he did it for her. Dagny had taken her time getting ready today, putting on her best dress, weaving tiny braids and flowers amongst her largest plait. It took him a long time, his hands constantly moving through her hair slowly, so slowly. Surely, this was part of the seduction, how his fingers would brush against her neck and her waist, how they moved through her dark hair so gently.

His hand came around her hip when it was done. She let him link their fingers and then turned towards him. Ubbe's eyes moved from the floor to her face, as if she'd undressed instead of just undone her hair. It was needlessly intimate. His free hand cupped her face. Dagny knew, beneath his strangely carnal gaze and soft grip, that he was going to ask her once again if she was comfortable with this. So she lifted her chin and brushed her lips against his.

Ubbe let go of her hand, wrapped an arm around her back, and pulled her against him. He kissed her again. It was soft and slow and made her think of spring days in the meadow in the forest, of summer rain, of flowers blue and pink and lavender.

The memory of Ivar's mouth on hers had haunted her for days. How harsh it had been, like taking and stealing and breaking. It was full of pain and reckless want. Hvitserk was much the same. Sometimes quick and fast and hungry. He'd placed his fingers on the neckline of her dress the night of the sacrifice and Dagny had wondered if he'd rip it open then and there. Part of her had wanted him to.

Ubbe was different.

His fingers threaded through her hair again and he placed a row of kisses along her sharp jaw, down the line of her throat. It was a deliberate, unhurried pattern. It seemed purposeful, planned, plotted out like a military maneuver. He focused on her neck for what felt like ages, his mouth so warm and gentle, like he knew this was perhaps her weakest spot. Dagny threw her head back to give him more skin to kiss and he untied the bow at the front of her finest dress, loosening it enough to pull the fabric off of her shoulder. His teeth accidentally grazed her collarbone and Dagny made a noise deep in the back of throat, humming her approval.

His fingers crept up her waist until they rested beneath her breast. "Dagny," he whispered, a glorious name to bear with the way he said it, and she opened her eyes. She hadn't even realized they'd been closed. She met his gaze and for the first time, she thought Ubbe was the wolf. His eyes were wide, cheeks the most appealing shade of pink, mouth already swollen. Dagny took a ragged breath. This was what Asdis was always talking about, why she went out of her way to set eyes on Ubbe, what she said she thought about in the darkest part of the night. His thumb ran across a rib, wanting permission, and somehow, that was the most attractive thing he'd done yet.

"But I've done nothing for you," Dagny said, her voice low.

The corner of Ubbe's mouth turned up and she watched it with incredible attention. "This is not about me."

"Yes, it is." Her hand gripped the fabric of his tunic. "You are a prince."

He laughed and it was a far prettier sound than the birds in the woods, than the waves lapping against shore. "To learn, Dagny, you must know what you like. So this is entirely about you."

She let out a breath, chest heaving. Nothing had ever been about her. Nothing. "Then I suppose you should continue." Dagny smiled and Ubbe kissed her again, this time letting his hand knead her breast. This was, probably, the most confusing part of the process; how several things managed to be happening at once. Kissing him, feeling his hands on her, trying to figure out just how she could manage to bring him closer to her, even though there was already no room between them.

The tie at the back of her gown came undone and suddenly he was behind her. She felt his fingers curl around the fabric at the back of her neck, so much more tenderly than Hvitserk's eagerness. Ubbe seemed scared she would run and Hvitserk seemed scared that she would suddenly realize what a misjudgment she was making. None of it could she paint as a mistake, even if it was perhaps the truth.

Ubbe kissed the skin of her throat, again so deliberate that Dagny wondered if he was placing her under a spell. But his hands were still on her dress, wanting her assent. So she stepped away from him, every inch of her suddenly angry that she would dare leave his deft hands and wandering lips.

Dagny knew there was beauty in the world. She saw it in the dark sea, in the depths of the forest, in the night sky. And she saw it now, in Ubbe's golden skin and his round mouth and his eyes wide with desire. She could not recall anyone looking at her that way before, not even truly Hvitserk. But then she supposed, nothing had ever gone this far before.

She took a deep breath and reached behind her. She let the dress fall to the floor.

* * *

Had Dagny ever made a greater misjudgment? Had she ever been more wrong?

These thoughts she wondered in the haze of morning, knowing the sun had risen hours ago and she was expected to be working. Once, she tried to move away, planning to dress quickly and eat nothing before starting on the day's chores, but Ubbe had wrapped a strong arm around her waist and brought her back against his chest. Dagny suddenly no longer cared a whit about anything that did not involve Ubbe's calloused fingers rubbing circles on her skin.

He was breathing against the back of her neck, her hair most likely smothering him. His arms were still around her waist. She was abruptly conscious of how close they were, of how unusual this was. Dotta said Margrethe was always back at her cottage before dawn. Asdis had never once been late for morning chores when she had been lucky enough to carry on with Ubbe. Dagny was unaware of the time, completely oblivious to how long she'd been in this room.

And this was why she had been greatly wrong. She thought it would be easier since there were no complicated feelings between her and Ubbe. Nothing between them at all but friendship and servitude. But she was wrong. She could see now that this would cast a pallor long and dark on any interaction they would have from this moment forward.

Perhaps friendship was something far worse than love.

When she moved this time, Ubbe let her. She wondered if he was only pretending to be asleep, to let her get away without the awkward conversation she was expecting. Dagny's hands were shaking as she tried to fasten the back of her dress. It was a deceptively tricky gown, one she only brought out for special occasions. Sighing, she left the tie at the back of her neck undone and covered it with her ragged cloak. It was still in a pool on the floor. Dagny fought reliving how Ubbe had unfastened it and let it fall away from her the night before. If she allowed that thought the ability to grow, she would be consumed by such memories forever, consumed by concerns that it was likely to happen again.

She did not allow herself time to consider waiting for Ubbe to wake or wondering what might happen when he did. Favored or not, Dagny was one of their family slaves and she had been punished for far less than being late.

Opening the door, it was Sigurd who she saw through her tangles of black hair. Sigurd, who was leaning against the wall, as if he had been waiting all evening to burst in and shame them both. He simply hadn't thought of the right way to do it yet.

"Dagny," he said coolly. Blonde hair fell over his shoulder as he turned to look at her. Dotta would likely swoon how disheveled he looked, hair massively out of place, tunic askance. "Am I next?"

"Sigurd," she replied. The door shut behind her. If there was anyone who did not need to know of this arrangement, it was Sigurd. Sigurd, who would hold it over her head like an ax, Sigurd, who used to taunt her for the way she looked at Hvitserk when they were children. "Only if you wish it."

The door across the hall opened. It was Sigurd's room, littered with lutes and weapons too fine to have ever been used in practice. His bed was perhaps even greater than Ubbe's, though Dagny was loath to admit it. Ubbe's bed was one of the most exquisite things she'd ever seen. But finally, her eyes went to who had opened the door. It was a man, one Dagny would readily admit was handsome. His tunic was also askance, his hair also tousled.

Dagny looked between them, this boy and the prince, and realization hit her.

She nodded at Sigurd once. He nodded back. Neither of them would mention this again. She'd always known this about Sigurd and never said anything, not to him, not to anyone. She would not start now.

The day managed to go on meagerly, with so much work that Dagny was actually distracted from thinking about anything. About Ubbe with his nice arms and even nicer hands, Sigurd with his pretty music but harsh words, Hvitserk across the world with his contagious laughter, Ivar in the sea with his large eyes and scowling. Aslaug and her ominous words.

Margrethe was nowhere to be seen. She had not been in any of the normal places, not at Dotta's, not in the great hall or the market, not in the forest to gather herbs. Dagny bent to pluck a few pieces of aloe from one of her favorite spots in the woods. She hoped that Margrethe was not foolish enough to run. Many slaves had tried before and never gotten very far. Wherever she was, Dagny had no doubt that it was due to seeing her with Ubbe the night before. And for that, she was sorry. It felt like she had never done anything other than offend Margrethe since the moment she came into the household. It was so unbelievably callous.

Dagny walked back into town through the market. It was as busy as was usual but still felt empty without most of the raiders. A goose scrambled across her path and Dagny dropped her basket full of herbs. Groaning, she bent to pick them up. The goose squawked as if she was the one who'd been in the wrong. Dagny just rolled her eyes.

Someone knelt in front of her, picking up sprigs of lavender and laying them so precisely in her basket. She knew the hands and she did not want to speak with who owned them. She was so silly, so incredibly stupid. After all, despite the embarrassment, hadn't she asked for this?

"Thank you, Ubbe," she said, standing. He held the basket out to her, better organized now than it had been in the depths of the forest. She had been too distracted to properly order the plants.

He looked well, so fair that he could put even Aslaug to shame. Dagny wanted to be able to speak without thinking about his skin or his lips or the fact that yesterday they could have had a conversation without either of those things tinging it. His mouth split into a grin, one that spoke of a challenge, so Dagny smiled back and she thought it might be simple, after all.

"Can I help you?" he asked, nodding towards the basket in her hands. It was in no way a task that called for two people to complete, to take the herbs back to her hut and hang them to dry. But there was a strange amount of hope in his gaze.

"It is all right," she said. "I do this all the time and besides, you seem in a hurry."

Ubbe took a breath and brushed the back of his neck with a hand. "Yes, I am on my way to meet Sigurd."

Something clawed in Dagny's gut, low and snarling. It told her that Ubbe leaving was a bad idea indeed. "Sigurd?"

He sighed, with all the weight of someone about to admit a misdeed. "Well, I am going to meet Margrethe. But Sigurd will be there."

Dagny felt suddenly sick. The knuckles on her hand gripping the handle of the basket went white. With her free hand, she took Ubbe by the arm. He looked down at her grasp with his icy blue eyes in actual concern. "You can't go, Ubbe." He flinched when she said his name. She felt it. "I implore you, do not go. Don't let Sigurd go either."

"This is about Margrethe?" Ubbe covered her hand with his. It dwarfed her own.

She couldn't say how she knew but it _was_. It was about Margrethe and where she'd been all day. Suddenly, there was a look on his face that belied how many women he'd heard something similar from over the years. Dagny's face reddened.

"Dagny, I am going to have a real conversation with her about everything."

"About everything?" Dagny parroted, oddly entranced by his hand on hers, something that would never have made her nervous only a few days ago.

"About Ivar and you and me. She has called us to her because she likes Sigurd and I the best. She deserves some honesty."

"She's playing a trick, Ubbe." Dagny heard how her voice changed tone, how it began to sound like some begging, mewling thing. But this felt so important. It felt like life or death.

"Dagny," he said, shaking his head, his thumb starting to move in a circle on the back of her hand. She pulled back from him.

"I am _not_ jealous. This is not about that!" Ubbe sighed again, such a lovely sound that Dagny could swear she heard birds start singing in response. Several girls walking by did turn. It was to Ubbe's credit that he did not return their gazes.

"You have _always_ been jealous of Margrethe." It was the simplest statement and might have even been the truest one of her life but Dagny balked.

"That is not at all true." Ubbe crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. The look said, _go ahead, prove me wrong._

"I am not going to be with her, Dagny. Sigurd can free her and marry her for all I care!" His hand cupped her jaw and color ran into her face again. "Her time is over." Dagny tried to ignore that he implied that hers had begun.

"If you go to her, you are walking into battle unarmed." He dropped his hand and Dagny immediately felt colder.

"How do you know this?" She _didn't_ know this, not truly. There was just that feeling creeping down low that made her think of funeral pyres and the cold, dark depths of the sea. She felt it when she thought of Margrethe, when she thought of Ubbe going to her. Gods, what if it _was_ just jealousy? What if this had poisoned Dagny so deeply that she would never be able to have a normal friendship with Ubbe again?

"I have a feeling," she admitted. But then the promise she'd made to the queen came back to her. Aslaug did not trust even Ubbe with this and Dagny would honor that.

His face softened and he nodded. "Then I will be quick about it. But I promised her I would go." Dagny nodded back. He moved to walk by her.

"Ubbe, I know you care for Margrethe." He looked back at her, seemingly confused. "What we did was your favor to me. You do not need to pretend I am special. I am not. We are friends and that is all. If you love her… that is your business. But you should not go to her today."

"Oh, Dagny, you are special." He grinned and cupped her jaw again. "Did you learn sewing in one lesson?"

She failed to see the relevance of the question but answered, "Of course not."

"In the same way, you cannot learn to please a man in one night."

"Oh," she replied. Ubbe smirked, a far kinder version than Sigurd's, and he was gone. Dagny watched him walk down the path and she knew what waited at the end was not good, for Ubbe, for Sigurd, for Kattegat.


	11. Chapter 11

**I am so sorry for the long wait! This semester is killing me. But I'm getting pumped for the new season of Vikings. Hope you are all doing well! Thank you so much for your kind words and follows/favorites. I hope you enjoy the chapter. It's a bit of a wild one.**

Dagny thought it was a dream, a distant swish she had heard many times from days spent deep in the forest when the princes were training. It was arrows, many being loosed all at once. It was such a calming sound that Dagny rarely associated it with war.

Then there were screams, yells seemingly wrenched from deep within a person. Dagny was still groggy with sleep when she realized this wasn't some figment of a half-remembered dream. This was an attack.

An arrowhead punctured the door to the cabin.

"Asdis," Dagny hissed lowly, pulling a dress on over her shift quickly. It caught about her throat and Dagny pulled it down, hearing the fabric want to give. "Asdis!" She flipped back the covers of her bed to see Asdis was already gone. She'd probably left early to avoid any and all conversation with Dagny. "Damn your pride, Asdis!"

Another arrow wedged into the wall and Dagny flinched.

She scrambled back across the room to pull the ax from beneath her bed. It was a pretty thing, with a well-oiled handle and perilously sharp blade. Dagny had seen Ivar's work for the blacksmith before so she knew he'd made this, knew it was perfectly balanced and would strike true if Dagny could get up the nerve to use it.

There were so many conflicting noises that she couldn't concentrate on figuring out what was happening. Yells, crashes, clangs, thumps.

Raids on Kattegat had happened before, largely earlier than her time under the queen, and there was no plan that Dagny knew to follow. Protection of Aslaug would have to come first and with Sigurd and Ubbe gone, it would be far too simple to gain access to her. While the queen had some men around her, they were not the best warriors. Those had gone Viking.

Dagny's heart was pounding as she realized that she would have to try to make it to the great hall. As the queen's handmaiden, as someone not on raid who was loyal to her, Dagny would be expected to protect Aslaug. She could not do that cowering in her tattered cottage. She feared that she could not do it at all.

She made herself take several deep breaths, made her hands tighten on the ax so that they would stop shaking. She needed a way to the great hall without being seen. That was unlikely, given that she was fairly sure the raiders were outside her door. They could push in at any moment and she'd be dead, Ivar's ax or not.

Once more, she took a shaky breath and then she opened the door of the cottage. Sweat began to bead on the back of her neck. For a moment, she couldn't see anything. There was just a barrage of smoke and dirt and moving bodies, none of which seemed to take notice of her.

But across the way, the air was clear and Dagny locked eyes on her. Asdis. She was on her back in the street, a silver-haired shieldmaiden standing over her with a short sword. There was blood on the blade, sliding down the metal to stain the girl's hand. Dagny cocked her head to the side, oddly entranced by that detail when nothing else around her seemed to be in focus, and finally, something snapped.

Dagny's shoulders tightened, her knuckles whitened on the handle of the ax, and her vision went red. Asdis. She had to get to Asdis, who shouldn't even be out yet, who would never have considered leaving early if it wasn't for Dagny.

She ran across the street and somehow, she made it through the crowd and the weapons and the smoke to be in front of the shieldmaiden. She was snarling and Dagny wanted to yell, to scream at her. But she raised the ax instead.

She swung it down, despite the shieldmaiden's sword coming up to cut through the fabric of her gown and into her side. The girl was shorter than Dagny and so it was unbelievably simple. The blade sunk into her throat. There had been no real effort in the swing, or so Dagny had thought. But the ax was sharp. When Ivar had cut her the other day, part of her assumed he'd done so on purpose. That blood was attractive to him. She had been remarkably all right with it.

The girl's body hit the ground before Dagny's feet, Ivar's ax stuck precariously in her neck. Blood stained her white hair red. It was the only color Dagny could see, the only thing she could hear. All around her was the clang of metal against shield, metal against flesh. Death. She ran back to Asdis, dropping to her knees beside her.

Asdis was staring blankly upward, her blue eyes taken on a cloudy sheen. The gash across her midsection had stopped bleeding, red a halo around her body. Dagny put her head to Asdis's chest anyway, the other girl's blood warm against her cheek. Dagny heard no heartbeat. "Asdis," she whispered, over and over again like she might respond. "Asdis, Asdis, Asdis, please."

Asdis only looked upward, blonde hair matted against her throat, flowers and fabric around her as if she was laid upon some grand funeral pyre. By rights, the wound shouldn't have been fatal. How many hundreds of times had raiders survived this sort of injury? But Asdis was so thin, so small. A blow meant to just hinder her had taken her life.

Dagny turned, wanting to discern anything about the unknown raiders. Often, invaders carried banners that showed their loyalty to one leader or another. But there were no banners. There was just chaos, unrest that didn't truly seem to be the point of the fighting at all. Everyone else on the road appeared injured but not in a truly life threatening manner. These people wanted to incapacitate.

Her eyes finally locked on a tall dark-haired shieldmaiden. Dagny had seen her before. She was Astrid, the lover of Earl Ingstadd. And she was standing above Dotta's body. It was not easy to determine whether Dotta's death was the accident that Asdis's was. But suddenly, it did not matter.

Astrid bent to pull a short sword from Dotta's chest. Dagny's vision blurred, red seeming to cover everything in sight. She stood, walked to the body of the white-haired shieldmaiden, put her foot against the girl's shoulder, gripped the handle of her ax, and pulled it loose. Blood fell from its blade. Lagertha's lover only smiled, the smooth smarmy grin of some monster that lurked beneath the waves of the sea. She had a shield and a short sword. Dagny had no idea how to disarm her. She didn't care.

"I saw you at the feast," Astrid called as Dagny approached. "Favored by the princes you may be but you are no shieldmaiden. You are a _slave._ Put down the ax and surrender and I will not hurt you." It was sensible but for some reason, Dagny did not hear her.

Dagny raised the ax anyway, not caring that blood was running down the handle onto her hand, down the sleeve of her gown. "Did you kill the princes?" she demanded through her teeth.

Astrid seemed to ponder how to answer, wondering whether knocking Dagny flat on her back would be as satisfying as she thought it would be. "We will kill them once we kill their witch mother." She grinned, more a baring of her teeth than a true smile. Dagny knew that it was said to deliberately rile her. If Lagertha was going to kill Ubbe or Sigurd, they would already be dead.

Dagny ran. Astrid dropped her shield, laughing, but readied her sword. A clang reverberated through the air when Dagny let the curved edge of the ax catch the side of the sword. She felt her arm shaking beneath the force of it all, gritting her teeth. She tasted blood in her mouth and didn't know whether to hope it was Asdis's or her own.

Astrid met her eyes. They could be the same height, Dagny realized, and so her advantage with the other shieldmaiden was useless here. She was also dressed in battle gear, a leather breastplate over chainmail and tight pants. Dagny was wearing a dress. Astrid pushed, hard, and Dagny fell onto her back. She gasped, the air knocked out of her, and Astrid only laughed more.

She turned her back, started to walk away, and the sounds of the fighting invaded Dagny's ears again. People screaming, cargo being destroyed, fires. Blood pumping rapidly in her veins. Dagny got up, her grip still tight on that ax, and she ran for Astrid. Suddenly, they were both on the ground, Astrid's sword flying out of her hand. Dagny dropped the ax and went for her throat.

They scrambled, Astrid deftly avoiding the brunt of Dagny's hit and Dagny avoiding none of it. Astrid was long-limbed and proceeded to kick and hit anywhere she could land a blow. A punch knocked Dagny's head to the side and split her lip. Astrid's fingers found the wound the other shieldmaiden had dealt her and dug in until Dagny screamed.

Astrid looked down at Dagny, who she'd managed to get onto her back. "I see why Margrethe is jealous of you." Dagny felt around on the ground beside her for the ax, trying to ignore the rage that Margrethe's name stirred in her, and found the handle. Astrid had her sword back and was angling to use it.

Dagny swung the ax up and struck the side of her head, cutting the other woman's cheek. She quickly straddled Astrid, pinned her arms, like she'd seen Hvitserk do to Sigurd so many times. Her chest was heaving but she brought the ax up one more time. She saw the line on Astrid's throat that Ivar had said to always aim for.

The ax was shot from her hand. Dagny turned around, outraged, and Astrid squirmed. It was Lagertha, so beautiful that Dagny honestly thought herself dead and that a Valkyrie had come for her. She was dropping a bow and pulling a sword from the belt at her waist. It happened so quickly that Dagny was not prepared for the blow when it came, when the earl's sword split open her leg from knee to ankle. When the back of the sword came down upon her head.

* * *

Dagny wasn't sure how she got there. She did not know how she had managed the walk when now she was sitting between two shieldmaidens atop a seat normally reserved for Ivar. It made her back hurt. No wonder that he was always in such pain.

She made her hand relax from clutching the cut on her side. Looking down, she saw that her palm was stained red. It was a slight wound that would heal quickly. She could tell that from the way the blood was clotting and the pain. The pain was nothing compared to her leg.

Dagny gasped when Aslaug finally broke through the procession of Lagertha's army, overwhelmingly made up of women. She was more beautiful than Dagny had ever seen her and cradled in her arms was a sword. The queen cast her eyes around for the briefest moment. They landed on Dagny, bruised and bloodied, with a cut on her cheek that was throbbing almost as badly as her leg. Aslaug's mouth quivered for the slightest second and then she smiled, like Dagny had done her proud.

She turned away and walked forward. Dagny could just barely see the outline of Lagertha a ways distant. A shieldmaiden took her by the shoulder and forced her back so that she was in line with them, so that the two queens were obscured, for surely that was what this was; a handing over of power. Aslaug was no fighter. But then, Dagny was still in shock at what she had done that day, at the reason a shieldmaiden would have for forcing her into line. She wasn't a violent person. She wasn't mean. Why had she done this?

An easy answer to that. Asdis, who had always deserved more than she had. Margrethe, who Dagny finally felt vindicated in not trusting. And Aslaug, who Dagny could overhear even from that distance, saying that she was no witch. That Ragnar was dead, his name the most magical word Aslaug had ever spoken. All of this was about Ragnar. Everything leading to this and from this moment forward was about Ragnar.

Dagny looked upward at the sky. This wasn't right. This was no simple takeover.

She dropped her gaze, tried to look around the girl beside her to watch Aslaug. Dagny couldn't hear them, not clearly, but Lagertha was smiling so she was getting what she wanted. Aslaug walked past her and Lagertha made her way in the direction of Dagny. At a nod from her, a girl to her right took Dagny by the shoulder again, as if she could run in this state. As if there was anywhere to go.

Dagny knew before a woman handed Lagertha the bow and quiver that this was Aslaug's end. It had been present in their conversation just a day or two ago. Aslaug knew her death was coming as Dagny knew Ragnar's was.

She tried to move but the girl held her back and Aslaug's name just wouldn't pass her lips. Lagertha drew the bow and loosed the arrow. Dagny choked, sputtered, as the queen fell to the ground. Years seemed to flash before her, of Aslaug always being kind, always being understanding. But mostly she saw herself as a child, running beneath Aslaug's well-made cloak that day at the slave market all those years ago. She could have chosen anyone on the dock, an able-bodied man who could train her sons, an older woman with a useful skillset, but she'd bought Dagny, a foreign girl who was too sick and cold to understand anything. She'd given her clothes and warmth and a name that Dagny later learned meant "new day." It had been a new day then and it was a new day now.

Again she was unsure of how long she'd been sitting there. People had gone. Aslaug's body had moved, to be prepared for the funeral, she assumed. Dagny shifted and saw blood in the sand beneath her right leg. It was still bleeding. But she thought she was numb to the pain.

Dagny had seen reactions like what she was experiencing before, where people froze and could not focus, sometimes could not speak. Numbness set in so that the horrors just witnessed seemed far away and often, not at all real. She did not expect to feel the pain of Aslaug's death for days at least. That in her leg would return much sooner.

"You're the one they call Dagny." At that she turned and faced Lagertha, Earl Ingstadd, now made queen of Kattegat. Dagny remembered that she stepped in for her at that feast when a man drunkenly put his hands on her. How could a woman who did that condemn another woman for a man's feelings for her? How she could call her a witch?

"I am Dagny," she replied, finally having the clarity of mind to wonder why Lagertha even wanted to speak with a slave. Perhaps, to discuss ownership.

"Would you mind talking with me?"

"Not at all," Dagny said, even though the thought made her sick. She wiped her face with the back of her dirty sleeve. Apparently, she had been crying.

"Can you walk?" Lagertha extended a hand to her, an offering of peace from the new regime to the old. Dagny narrowed her dark eyes. "I am sorry for it. We needed people incapacitated. I trust you will heal well." Dagny would not know anything for sure until she looked at it closely but she feared a limp. Maybe worse. "Bjorn says that you are a good healer, that once you treated him for a similar wound, and it was better than before."

"He is strong and a warrior." The thought that Bjorn had ever even noticed Dagny's meager existence was shocking. But she kept her mouth in a firm line, her expression neutral.

"So, I think, are you." Lagertha smiled and gave Dagny her hand once more. This time she took it, though everything in her screamed that it was the wrong thing to do. Her leg wanted to give out the moment she stood and she had to grasp Lagertha's arm to steady herself.

Lagertha led her the short distance to the great hall, though to Dagny, it was an ordeal of the highest order. The earl gestured at some unseen warrior and the stump Dagny had been sitting on was moved to a place in the great hall. Once inside, Lagertha let her sit. Dagny focused on the earl, on the way the fire reflected off her blonde hair, to ignore Aslaug's banners coming down and the bustle of new people carrying away the old.

"They do not treat you like a slave so I won't speak to you as one," Lagertha said and knelt before her. "You are to be honest with me, as you would have been with Aslaug."

Dagny nodded.

"Bjorn tells me his brothers are fond of you." Again, part of her was shocked that Bjorn had known enough about her to be aware of her name, let alone enough to tell his mother. She had treated his household only a few times, most for various ailments of his children. For many of those, he was not even present.

"Hvitserk is the only one who cares for me." Which, perhaps, explained Bjorn knowing anything about her because Hvitserk was especially close with him.

Lagertha tilted her head to the side. Dagny returned her stare. Neither of them appeared ready to back off.

"What of Ivar?" the earl asked. "The slave girl, Margrethe, says he watches you. She says you disappear into the woods with him sometimes for hours." Dagny swallowed. The pain in her side started again. "She says you were with Ubbe just a night ago."

Dagny exhaled through her nose. "Margrethe speaks of things she doesn't understand." Lagertha smiled.

"I think she understands them perfectly." The earl paused. "The other slaves are not your friends, Dagny. Though I doubt you need me to tell you that." Any slave who might have been her friend was now dead. Suddenly she saw Dotta on the ground, Asdis's dead eyes, the white-haired shieldmaiden she'd cut down. Ice crept down her spine.

"Will you kill them?" Dagny asked, her voice catching. "The princes."

Lagertha shook her head, a swathe of blonde hair falling over her shoulder. "They are Ragnar's sons. Their mother was a witch. That was not their doing." Dagny's skin prickled at the word. She could be called a witch just as simply as Aslaug.

"And you believe they will forgive you? For enticing them with Margrethe, for usurping the throne, for killing their mother?" Part of Dagny screamed at the thought of speaking this way with any authority but Lagertha had requested honesty and honesty she would get.

"I believe that you will help them adjust to the new way of things." She was smiling once more, as if Dagny's blatant disregard for social status was akin to the throne across the room that she so coveted.

"Aslaug is dead."

"And you loved her." It was not a question. "She bewitched you, for what slave loves their master?" Many others had forgotten but Porunn had loved Bjorn. Athelstan had loved Ragnar.

Dagny did not respond.

"I watched you fight today. You were sloppy, full of rage, but it was your first battle and all warriors should bear some fury." Dagny met the earl's eyes. "You should train. I kept your ax. I'll return it to you."

"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"I could free you, let you join me as Margrethe has." Dagny's pulse rose, the numbness in her leg began to wear off.

"And have you freed her?"

"She's no warrior. Nor is she loyal." Dagny took short, quick breaths, prayed to the gods that she would have the strength to deny her. "I know you loved Aslaug but her sons will not be so kind. They will share you as they have shared Margrethe and that is no fitting fate for a girl like you."

"I would never turn on the princes. Ivar would kill me."

"I can protect you from him." Lagertha's eyes were bright, her spirits still high after a battle won and a throne gained. She was fierce and out of legend but she still thought Ivar was no more than a crippled boy. And when he returned –and he would return, Dagny would accept no alternative—he would prove her wrong. Sigurd would not care, Ubbe would be diplomatic, and Hvitserk would follow whatever course was the least likely to upset anyone. But Ivar… Ivar would never forgive Aslaug's death.

Dagny scoffed. "No, Earl Ingstadd, you cannot. No one can protect me from Ivar." She paused, analyzed Lagertha's expression, which revealed nothing. "And I do not belong to you or your son. Ubbe owns me now."

"Is he a reasonable man? A kind one?" Dagny gave a curt nod, feeling like she was telling someone's greatest secret. "Are you as loyal to him as you were his mother?"

"Yes," Dagny replied. Lagertha nodded, making her continue. "He is a better man than anyone else I know. He has treated me more kindly than others who said they were my friends."

"Would you follow him into battle?" Perhaps the most important question that Lagertha had asked, judging by how intense her gaze suddenly became. The concept of an uprising was already been haunting her.

"I would follow him anywhere," Dagny said brusquely, her lips a straight line.

"Then tell him to train you. You are a waste of talent otherwise." She rose and looked down at Dagny. "I do not want war with Aslaug's children. I loved Ragnar and they are his sons as well. I want this transition to be smooth. Convince them to see the right way of things."

Lagertha left and the pain immediately returned. Dagny bent over, pulled up her skirt just a smidge, and winced when air hit the wound. She still felt unable to focus or to grasp the gravity of her conversation with the new queen. Had she been offered freedom, even as a trap? Had she been foolish to refuse it? Would she ever walk correctly again?

Lagertha's people gave her nothing. They did not tell her to go change, as Lagertha was clearly doing. They did not offer to dress her wounds. They did not allow her to leave. Perhaps, that would not have been an issue had she been able to stand. But the pain was only getting worse, drowning out the cut on her cheek, the slice along her side. Finally, she tore the bottom off of her dress and tied it tightly above her knee. It would hopefully stop some of the aching and keep it from bleeding once more.

Dagny knew it hadn't been that long but it felt like hours before Lagertha returned. She sat atop Aslaug's throne, flanked by Margrethe and Astrid, who had a long cut along her cheekbone that Dagny had given her. Margrethe met her eyes for the briefest moment and looked away. She didn't appear triumphant. Nor did Astrid. This was a mummer's farce if Dagny had ever seen one.

The doors to the great hall came open to Dagny's side and for the first time that day, she did not feel off-kilter. She let out a breath in relief. Ubbe and Sigurd strode in and neither appeared hurt. Ubbe's gaze landed first on Lagertha atop the throne and then upon Dagny, who must have looked as badly as she felt, because the rage drained from his face. He came toward her, all concern, and she wanted to shake her head so that they did not appear too close. But Dagny also wanted so badly to be told that it would be all right, that someone would take care of this, and someone would take care of her.

So damn whatever Lagetha thought and whatever Margrethe had told her.

"Are you all right?" Ubbe asked, putting his hand to her face. She winced when he touched the cut there and turned out of his grasp. Sigurd also came closer.

"I am fine," Dagny lied. In truth, this was about to be all she could take. No one ever worried for her and there was such warmth in Ubbe's gaze that she forgot the difference in their social stature.

"Why are you sitting?" Sigurd said, strangely gentle in tone. It was just kind enough that Dagny's throat wanted to close up.

"My leg," she whispered. Both brothers looked down but could only see dried blood on her ankle, on the floor beneath her foot. The gods had been merciful to let her be numb this long.

Something crossed Ubbe's expression and his fingers left her skin. "Ubbe, don't," she said, as sternly as she could muster. Sigurd exchanged a look with her and then went back to Ubbe's side, the two of them now in the middle of the hall. Dagny closed her eyes, felt her hands begin shaking. If they were killed, it would be over. There would be no resistance or revenge for Aslaug until Ivar came home— _and he's coming home_ , Dagny reminded herself. She would belong to Lagertha and then potentially to Bjorn, who many of the other slaves had always somewhat feared. Dagny had lived well for a slave, she knew that, and she had no desire to see life made worse for any of them. If Ubbe could control his anger, it would be fine. And frankly, she couldn't recall ever having seen him mad.

"Where is our mother?" Ubbe asked.

"She's dead, Ubbe," Lagertha said. Ubbe narrowed his eyes but it seemed more in confusion than in fury. "I killed her."

"Why?"

"She took Kattegat away from me. I wanted it back." Dagny rolled her eyes. None of this had been Aslaug's fault and Kattegat had been doing well for years, despite neither Lagertha nor Ragnar being in charge.

Ubbe drew an ax from his belt, even with Sigurd trying to push his arm down. "Ubbe," Dagny murmured under her breath. "Do not do this."

"Why didn't you also have us killed?" Sigurd asked. He was still grasping Ubbe's sleeve. For once, Dagny thought, they were in agreement.

"This was nothing to do with you," Lagertha remarked, hands braced on each arm of the throne. "You are Ragnar's sons. It was not your fault that your father was bewitched."

Ubbe managed to break free of Sigurd's grip. He lifted his ax, pointed its end at Lagertha. Dagny suddenly forgot how to breathe. "It was a mistake not to kill us," he said.

Lagertha nodded, slightly disappointed. "That was a chance I was prepared to take."

Ubbe nodded back and started to shed his cloak, catching it on his braid. He tossed it to Dagny, who fumbled with it, suddenly distracted by how warm it was. Had she been this cold all day?

She shook her head when he gave her a nod. He was grinning. She wasn't going to put it on but she buried her hands in the cloak's warmth anyway. "Ubbe, don't do this," she pleaded.

Sigurd put his hand on Ubbe's arm again and said his name too. But Ubbe pushed him. Sigurd staggered to Dagny's side and Lagertha's men nearest to them leveled swords at their throats. Sigurd grabbed her shoulder to keep her steady or to keep himself steady, Dagny didn't know.

She turned to see Ubbe cut down two warriors, one after another. A line of shieldmaidens formed between him and the throne. Somehow, he managed to get through many of them too. Dagny leaned forward, didn't care about Sigurd squeezing her shoulder or the sword drawing blood at her neck.

In the haze of it all, Ubbe was finally knocked back, a shield slamming him in the face. He conceded, let his head fall back against the floor as if it were time to go to sleep. Lagertha looked strangely conflicted, Ubbe's respect a loss she grieved.

The new queen gestured and Sigurd and Dagny were let go. If Dagny could have walked to him, she would have. Instead, Ubbe somehow managed the walk to them, even as Dagny could see that he was already stiff and starting to swell. Remarkably, he looked even more handsome.

He knelt before her and Dagny thought it was so she could see his wounds better but then he placed his arm around her back and she knew he was going to pick her up.

"Ubbe, I'll do it," Sigurd said, mildly disinterested as Ubbe's fight had apparently angered him. People around began moving about, leaving the great hall. Dagny wondered if they had been waiting this entire time just for Sigurd and Ubbe to show up, if that was why she had been denied cleaning up so that there might have been some encouragement for them to behave nicely.

Ubbe cut his eyes.

"No one is doing it," Dagny said. "I need to walk."

His hands came to rest on her thighs and Dagny felt like a queen with a warrior on his knees before her, asking for some extravagant favor. "You cannot walk, Dagny," he murmured. "I can see that by the pain you are in."

"I'm not in pain," she lied, because it was expected of her. Because he was a prince and she a slave. She would have to see to his injuries before her own.

"She has courage, your slave," Lagertha said from the dais. All three of them turned, Ubbe's hands suddenly away from her and reaching for a weapon. "She fought bravely today, almost killed Astrid." Astrid, to the earl's left, sneered at that. "And she is loyal to you. I offered her freedom and she said that she belongs to you."

Ubbe looked back to Dagny in disbelief. "What?"

"It was a trick," Dagny said. Lagertha smiled.

"Her ax was well-made," the new queen declared, waving with her hand. Margrethe descended the dais with Ivar's ax barely in her grasp, touching it seeming to disgust her. That it was Margrethe seemed of the highest irony. "You should arm her with more."

Dagny and the brothers each tensed as Margrethe made her way toward them. Sigurd's hand was still on Dagny's shoulder and she felt his fingers tighten. Ubbe's eyes were dark but other than that, he gave no reaction. She thought that, for a prince, Ubbe was remarkably able to understand the decisions a slave was forced to make.

Margrethe lifted her chin when she was close enough and the mark Ivar had given her was still barely visible. Dagny thought she intended for her to see it and feel guilty again. Or to show that Margrethe believed she was no better than Ivar. She dropped the ax onto the floor, blood crusted on its blade, grimacing and Dagny felt sorry for her. Lagertha had offered Dagny a chance at freedom for miraculously holding her own in a fight with her second-in-command, her lover. There were other things Dagny could offer her as well, information on the princes, her talent at healing, but Lagertha would not be sitting atop the throne at all if not for Margrethe. She was innately the reason for the earl's victory and yet, switching to her side had done Margrethe no favors.

But Dagny also knew, deep in her bones, that if Margrethe hadn't seen her enter Ubbe's room, this might never have come to pass.

Sigurd picked up the ax when Margrethe returned to the dais and turned it over in his hand. Finally his blue eyes met hers and he demanded, "Where did you get this?"

Dagny actually rolled her eyes, too exhausted to care about what he might do. "Where do you think?"

Sigurd made to say something else but Ubbe held up his hand. Sigurd tucked the ax into his belt and Dagny could say nothing. She could not say it was hers and demand its return. By default, wasn't anything that belonged to her actually a possession of Aslaug's family?

Ubbe tucked an arm beneath her legs and around her back. He shouldn't be carrying her. But he shook his head at Dagny's protests. She was grateful for how warm he was anyway, how this didn't seem to faze him in the way it had her.

When they were outside, she told them to head to her cottage. At least the medicine was there and it was a house that Lagertha wasn't likely to seize.

Sigurd had to help Dagny onto Ubbe's horse. She'd never ridden before and nor had she ever been in such overwhelmingly agony. Her head simply spun and spun. She leaned back against Ubbe's chest while they rode, partly out of fatigue, partly to see if he'd been dealt any large injury.

At the cottage, Sigurd helped her down. His fingers managed to hit the cut along her side and though her vision slightly blurred at the pain, she said nothing. Ubbe stumbled off the horse and Dagny actually wondered how he'd managed the ride with the skin around his eye swelling so badly.

The cabin was remarkably unscathed, many of Dagny's tinctures and balms completely untouched on the shelf. She sighed with relief once inside. That would make this much easier.

Sigurd had them both sit down, backs against Dagny's meager bed and legs stretched in front of them. He stood.

"Sigurd, get anything she asks you for," Ubbe said, tilting his head back against the mattress. Dagny locked eyes on the ax in Sigurd's belt and beyond it, Asdis's empty bed.

Sigurd nodded.

"We need clean water and white willow bark. I should have some in a vial," she said. Sigurd nodded again.

"Will that numb your leg?" Ubbe asked as Sigurd began browsing a shelf. Dagny's mouth opened in confusion.

"No," she said. "It's for your swelling."

He scoffed. "That's ridiculous. You are in terrible shape."

"Still, you should be tended to first."

"She's right, Ubbe," Sigurd agreed, picking up a jar and putting it back down again.

"No!" Ubbe said, so firmly that Dagny flinched and Sigurd looked over his shoulder, vaguely confused. "No." His hand came up to her face for just a moment and she was unfailingly proud that she managed not to lean into it. "You're a strong girl, Dagny, but no one is this strong."

"You're a prince," she murmured. "I need to help you."

"No," he replied.

"Let her do it, Ubbe," Sigurd said.

"I said, no."

"Ubbe, it is the way of things," Dagny said. "I have to see to your wounds first."

"You will see to my injuries after I have helped yours." He was stern, which usually implied an order so Dagny said nothing. "You should be concerned about yourself and not me."

"She's a slave, Ubbe!" Sigurd exclaimed. "She is here to care for you." Ubbe closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and turned to his brother.

"No," Ubbe said softly. Dagny felt her stomach drop. "Not anymore. Not after this day."

"You cannot be serious." Disbelief was clear in his voice.

"Oh, I am. I am very serious." He turned to Dagny, bloody, battered, and bruised. She still found him lovely. "Dagny, you no longer answer to me or any man. You are free now."

She took a ragged breath. "Why?" she somehow succeeded in asking.

"Because it should have been done a long time ago." He leaned back against the bedframe, closed his eyes. "Now help her, Sigurd."

Sigurd and Dagny only looked at each other, both in some odd form of skepticism. But when Sigurd crouched in front of her and asked permission to look at her leg, she knew it was real. She was free now. And she did not know what that meant.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi all! I hope you're all having a great week. I'm finally posting another chapter! Thank you so, so much for all of your kind words on the others. I'm glad that so many people are enjoying it! I hope you continue to do so. Enjoy this chapter! The second half is a bit of skipping through time a bit so that may be why it's different in style/tone. But Ivar is back next chapter! How are y'all enjoying the new season? It's so good already! As usual, I only own Dagny.**

Pain woke Dagny up, the sting in the wound on her leg something she irrationally feared might never go away. She put her hand over her face. The three of them had somehow managed to fall asleep in a line on the floor, with cloaks as pillows and she and Asdis's meager blankets thrown atop them. Ubbe's arm was slung around her waist. Even asleep, he managed to keep clear of the cut along her ribs. She wanted to touch his hand, link their fingers, pull his arm to her chest but that was so dangerous.

Sigurd was on the other side, close enough for her to feel the warmth pouring off of him. His mouth was parted, blonde hair everywhere, and Dagny found herself thinking that he appeared actually relaxed. Sigurd rarely smiled anymore, not like he did when they were children.

When she told him how to do it, Sigurd had sewn the gash along her right calf shut. She knew he had steady hands, deft fingers. He could not be a musician otherwise. Though he tried to hide it, he'd blushed when she praised him. They were better stitches than even she could have achieved, particularly on a wound that uneven.

After feeling listless for much of the morning, as neither the princes nor Dagny had any idea of how to proceed with Lagertha in charge, Dagny suggested that Sigurd make some more salve for their injuries while she and Ubbe headed to the lake to clean their wounds properly. Ubbe agreed, because it was something to do. Sigurd raised an eyebrow at her when Ubbe turned his back. Dagny clenched her jaw, even as she fought it with every ounce of her being. She would have recommended this to anyone with their injuries. It was the logical next step in healing.

But it was different now.

"Here," Ubbe said when they were ready, extending a hand. Dagny took it and he pulled her arm around his shoulders, keeping their fingers linked. He put his free hand on her waist for support and she pressed against him. Everything in her wanted to scream. They were too close. But Ubbe smiled and she did not care anymore.

Putting weight on her right leg, even barely, had Dagny gritting her teeth. If Ubbe was the one bearing this wound, she would have refused him the opportunity to go anywhere. It required rest. But part of her feared losing the use of it entirely if she did not make herself walk.

Once outside, Ubbe's horse whinnied as their bag of supplies was hitched onto its back. She wanted to try to mount the horse on her own but eventually conceded to Ubbe's help. He helped her throw her leg over the saddle and got on behind her. She immediately tensed.

"Don't be nervous," he murmured, mouth perilously close to her ear. Sigurd crossed his arms, just looking at her. "Horses can sense that."

 _It's not the horse,_ she thought. But instead she smiled and tried to relax. The ride through town would have made it difficult to do on a normal day. Lagertha's influence was everywhere and people's gazes seemed to linger a bit longer on them than normal.

"To be as tall as you are, you shrink into yourself," Ubbe said as they finally reached the lake. It was deep in the forest and afforded a great deal of privacy. "You should stand straight."

He was down and putting his hands on her waist before she could protest. She stumbled when her feet hit the ground, right leg wanting to buckle. She had been trying to ignore the pain spurred by the movement of the horse beneath her, by the tenseness in her shoulders, but this was worse still. Ubbe kept his hands on her, concerned she was going to fall.

"Sometimes, it is not to your benefit to be noticed," Dagny replied and let him help her sit down on a stone by the water. He sat beside her, wrapping his arms around his knees. It was so ridiculously informal.

"Are you all right?" Ubbe's swelling was already much better than the day before but he still looked pitiful enough that Dagny felt she should tell the truth.

"I killed someone yesterday," she responded, taking off her cloak. "I expected to feel differently. Instead I feel nothing."

"That is nothing to be ashamed of, Dagny. You had to protect yourself."

She nodded because it would have been true had the girl stormed into her cabin, looking to kill. But Dagny had crossed to her with the intent of violence.

"I am sorry about Margrethe," she murmured. He turned, braid swinging over his shoulder. "I know you care for her so I am sorry."

"I don't blame her," he replied. "She is a slave. She has to think about her best interests." Dagny swallowed. Had she foregone her best interests after all?

There was a long pause where they said nothing. It made her think of Hvitserk, of how often they used to just sit beside each other and sometimes never talk.

"Why didn't you go with Lagertha?" he asked, strangely vulnerable in tone. Dagny turned but he kept staring out at the water, his profile the side of his face that had managed to get by unscathed. She considered taking his hand but stopped the second her fingers started to creep along the stone.

"It was a trick, Ubbe," she responded.

"I don't believe it was. I believe she wanted to hurt my family and she thought that stealing you away and giving you everything you've ever wanted would be a blow to us." He paused. "I suppose I just do not understand. I cannot remember a time before you served us. Surely, you've always wanted to be free."

"Yes. But I love you and your brothers and I have been loyal to you all my life. It was not a choice." He nodded, kept staring at the way the wind made the water ripple. "Why have you done this, Ubbe?" she asked, her voice a groan. "Why free me?"

He shrugged, like it meant nothing. Like it hadn't invoked a debt that Dagny would never be able to repay. "It was the right thing to do."

"Was it?" Dagny's only thought was not relief at freedom or wonder at the things to come. It was of Ivar and Hvitserk, coming off the boats and noticing something different. It was of the dynamics of every relationship she had forged changing into something potentially unrecognizable. Asdis had always secretly believed that Hvitserk would one day free Dagny and marry her, once Ubbe had settled down. But Ivar, as he so often was, would be unknown. Perhaps Sigurd was right and he liked someone trapped, forced to listen to him.

"If _anyone_ has a problem with it, they will have to take it up with me." Ubbe turned and arched a brow at her. She actually smiled back, which seemed so unsympathetic when Aslaug was dead and life was uncertain. But Ubbe had that way about him, comfort and ease and things not actually being so bad. "So Ivar gave you an axe."

Dagny was still smiling when she said, "He did."

Ubbe looked out at the lake once more and she saw from the stern set of his mouth that he was thinking much the same thing she was. Perhaps, they should say nothing of this and take it no further. Even sitting here now, it was difficult not to think of his hands in her hair and his mouth on her skin.

"I know you do not care much for Margrethe," he started, "but she's not a liar. What if he'll never be able to do it, Dagny? He will not father children, he will not be able to please you. And you are free now, so you must think of marriage."

"I think, Ubbe, that I can prove Margrethe wrong," she replied. "And if I can't, that does not bother me either."

He smiled at her, proud, but it did not reach his eyes.

Dagny knew she should say no when he offered her help getting undressed but she was forced to accept it. She was so sore that the thought of reaching behind her to undo the gown actually nauseated her. But he untied the knot he'd placed at the top of her dress just last night wordlessly. When he had loosened the ties enough for her to shed the gown with ease, he turned his back and headed into the woods. Dagny was grateful for it, sure that Ubbe would never stand in the forest, pushing branches away to catch a glimpse of her unclothed. Of course, he had seen her before. More than seen her. So perhaps it did not matter.

But Ivar would look. Dagny felt sure he already had, probably more than once.

The water was cool enough that her stitches did not reopen, which had partially been her intent on picking the lake in the woods. Neither she nor Ubbe needed any cuts to start bleeding profusely once more.

Beneath the water, Dagny expected to remember the day before in all its madness. She thought the image of the silver-haired shieldmaiden might flash before her or of Aslaug sinking to her knees, arrow in her back. But all she thought of was Ivar and his hungry mouth and how he might actually be proud of her for killing.

When she finally made her way back to shore, she stumbled onto the land like some sea creature finally given legs. Ubbe had left out a tunic and a pair of pants for her. Dagny recognized them as Hvitserk's, since the tunic was green with reddish-orange embroidery at the neck. For a moment, she thought about questioning it and assumed it was a mistake. But once they were on and firmly belted, she appreciated Ubbe's forethought.

He emerged from the woods moments later, grinning, apparently having listened to her struggling to get dressed for the last 15 minutes.

"It is not funny," Dagny said, slinging her wet hair behind her, "and I had plenty of other things to wear."

"You own four dresses," Ubbe replied and pulled his tunic over his head. Dagny found it vaguely mesmerizing. "One of which was completely ruined yesterday."

"I own more than four dresses," she muttered under her breath.

"Besides, it becomes you." He gestured at her before pulling his boots off. She felt heat rise to her face.

Dagny did not have the energy nor did she really possess the ability to walk into the forest as Ubbe had. Instead she sat on the stone by the water, her back turned, as Ubbe undressed fully. Her fingers were shaking as she put them to her face. What did any of this matter now? She had killed someone, whether in the thralls of war or not, and yet the thought of turning around to see Ubbe was what made her uneasy. She should be proud, as Asdis had always been. Ubbe was coveted. He was generous and caring and he had done her the favor she'd asked.

"I don't care," he called.

"You don't care about what?" she responded, smoothing her hair out so that it would dry quickly.

"If you look at me." His voice was low now and there was a slick slap against the rock as his arm came to rest beside her. She steeled herself, closed her eyes and counted, before finally turning around. Ubbe's head was resting on his crossed arms, everything below his shoulders mercifully covered by the stone.

"Did you look at me?" Dagny smiled, even though it made the bruise on her cheek ache.

"What if I did?" The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. She was unsure of what to believe. In the next instant, he splashed her, water dotting Hvitserk's green tunic. "I am only joking."

Dagny grinned at him again and turned away. She did not let herself think of what it meant, this strange conversation. Instead she focused on Lagertha's words, still humming through her. It had been exhilarating to fight with Astrid, though it had been fought only through instinct. It had been better to be told she had a talent for it. The thought of Lagertha's name alone tugged at some lonely part of her that believed Aslaug had been gravely wronged, that Ivar would never forgive what happened and neither should she. But anger did not blind Dagny to ability or legend, it did not blind her to praise.

"Are you ready?" Ubbe's voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. He was already dressed, still brilliant beneath all the bruising and swelling.

"Yes," she replied and took his arm when he gave it to her. Uncomfortably standing by the horse, Dagny pulled out a jar from her bag. "We should put the medicine on while we're still rather clean." And hidden beneath the branches of the forest.

Ubbe nodded once and took the jar from her. He bent to one knee and rolled up the leg of her pants to reveal the gash on her calf. It was hard to believe that it had looked worse yesterday. Dagny bit back a groan when he put the salve atop the stitches. Then he stood. She met his gaze. He lifted the edge of her tunic and Dagny did not look away.

Ubbe rubbed the salve across her ribs, along the cut and around it. Though its pain was meaningless compared to everything else, she still felt relief hum through her at the medicine. When Ubbe had performed this same duty for her last night, with Sigurd uncharacteristically embarrassed and turning away, his hands had been shaking. They were not shaking now.

Dagny knew she shouldn't but when he was done, she took his hand and placed it on her cheek. It needed the salve too, she told herself. But truly, she just wanted to watch him, to see the look in his pale eyes. And indeed, it was something to see, that strange expression of wishing and want.

He took a step closer and his thumb brushed the cut on her cheekbone with such tenderness that Dagny leaned in. Calm swam through her veins. When he finally pulled away, she almost regretted it.

Dagny took the salve and ran it over the cut above his eye. Ubbe groaned but closed his eyes in mock pleasure.

"I have another favor to ask of you, Ubbe," she murmured and he smiled. Dagny thought his image should be engraved onto burnished gold coins.

"I will do whatever you ask," he responded, eyes still closed. Her hand locked, fingers still close enough to touch his face. He was the first person to ever say anything like that to her. Dagny wanted to lock it away somewhere, a place she could visit whenever she wanted.

"Would you train me?" she responded and her voice filled with such longing that she knew Ubbe would not refuse.

"Train you?" His eyes fluttered open and her hand fell. "Is that something you really want?"

"Yes. It is." In truth, Dagny had no idea what she wanted. She still believed she should be a healer, she still wished for a warm home and hearth, like Ubbe apparently wanted. But she also knew that yesterday, she had felt powerful. And in Kattegat, there was no reason to believe that she could not have both.

"Of course, I'll train you. I will train you in everything. But it will not be easy." Dagny grinned, no stranger to hard work. "And some people are not built for war. You may come to find that you are one of them."

Dagny had a feeling, deep down, that he was probably correct.

* * *

The first order of business was taking Dagny to the tailor, where she was measured for clothing far finer than anything she had owned before. Dresses, tunics, pants. And finally, she was taken to the armorer, who fit her for mail and a leather breastplate.

Until her leg got better, Ubbe focused on training her in two ways; riding and archery. Neither did she show much promise at. It took her many days to be able to mount Ubbe's horse on her own, even though the animal did appear taken with her. Plying it with oats seemed to be working.

Once she could mount, she tried riding on her own. Never having ridden in the past, she did not know how much leg pressure to apply or how to hold the reins correctly and more than once, the horse took off at a gallop with Dagny holding on for dear life. Sigurd always laughed and even she had to admit that it was quite funny.

All of this amidst Ubbe telling her how to stand straight and be confident, in looks if not in reality. He also made her eat everything on her plate to build muscle, when often she ate more for dinner now than she had in two or three days as a slave. The first night, it made her sick. But despite the difficulties, the new aches and pains, and the amount of time it consumed, Dagny loved it. She loved when Sigurd laughed at her, she loved the feeling of holding a bow, even if she never hit the target, and she loved being around Ubbe, who was never unkind to her.

"Keep your arm locked," he said now, tapping her on the elbow. They were deep in the forest, in one of the princes' favorite places to spar. Dagny was seated on the stool Ivar normally trained from, a quiver propped against the side of it and a large bow in her arms. It had taken her only a week to build up the strength in her arms to pull the bowstring back, something that had apparently surprised Ubbe because he clapped her on the neck the first time she achieved it. Feeling like she impressed him made most tasks more bearable.

"Perhaps, I am not good at archery," she replied, angling her neck so that the fletching of the arrow just brushed her cheek. She was aiming for the head of a stag, for the bridge between its eyes. Once, years ago, Ivar had been aiming for a similar target and Dagny had been sent to fetch all the weapons and arrows that hadn't made it that far. When she stood, Ivar loosed an arrow. It was so close that it actually lifted her hair. Ubbe had raged but Ivar only looked at Dagny, wanting to know if he'd scared her. It was a test and one she apparently passed because when she complimented him on the shot, he smiled.

"You just need more practice," Ubbe said, leaning in from behind and making sure her arms were in the right place. "And to make sure that you keep this elbow locked." He tapped her again, laughing, and Dagny felt his breath on her neck.

"I will never make a clean shot if you continue to distract me."

"There will be distractions on the battlefield." His voice was low and his hands came down to frame her waist. She kept her arms steady by sheer will.

"Not like you," she muttered and loosed the arrow. It flew through the stag's antlers, barely grazing the top of its head. Dagny sighed and brought the bow down.

"You should breathe with it. Fire on an exhale." Ubbe let her go and stood to her side.

"I have tried this many times, Ubbe. I will never be a gifted archer. Let me try with the axe." He sighed then and looked down at her.

"I _know_ you can throw an axe and you can throw it well. But archery is an important skill and it is one I expect you to excel at. It requires patience and thought and-"

"And being far away from the main fighting." Dagny stared up at him, expected him to push back, but Ubbe only crossed his arms and gave her what she now termed the big-brother look, the perfect mix of disappointment and authority.

"Your leg will take weeks to heal properly. This is something you can do sitting down."

"I could fight with a sword sitting down too. Or a shield."

"You're not strong enough to carry a shield yet." That was true enough. The only time she had tried to pick one up, she immediately slouched beneath its weight. She could not hold it up for more than a few minutes, let alone a battle. But still, she wanted to try.

"You are right," she allowed and Ubbe grinned. He put his hand to her face, thumb grazing the scar Astrid had given her, and Dagny knew what was coming from that alone. He bent down and kissed her, close lipped and quick. It made her skin tingle from head to toe. "What was that for?"

"For luck," he replied.

Dagny drew another arrow from the quiver, fingers trembling, and nocked it. She had not kissed Ubbe since that evening weeks ago and she thought he had forgotten what he said to her the next day; that she could not learn in one night. She knew it was stupid and foolish but Ubbe was kind and they were friends. Best friends, she thought, which was a concept she'd had no knowledge of until Sigurd mentioned it. That she and Ubbe did everything together, that they shared jokes and had beds adjacent to one another and spent their days cloistered in the forest laughing and training. Though he would deny it, Dagny thought Sigurd had said it in jealousy. Tomorrow she would invite him to train.

She let the arrow fly, on outward breath, and again it flew between the antlers.

"I think you need more luck," Ubbe said beside her.

And gods help her, she replied, "I do."

He kissed her again, this time openmouthed, and Dagny's grip on the bow tightened until she was sure there was a permanent imprint of her hand.

She was breathless the next time she nocked an arrow. Once loosed, it wedged itself in the left temple of the stag.

Ubbe's hand ruffled her hair and she pushed at his hip until he staggered away in mock pain. Dagny laughed. "Was that good enough for you?" she asked.

He responded by dropping to his knees in front of her. His hand slid up her good leg, bringing her skirt with it, and suddenly he was pressing his lips to the inside of her calf, the inside of her thigh.

Dagny wanted to ask what he was doing but then, frankly, she wanted him to do whatever he desired.

From then on, she did indeed invite Sigurd to go with them, partially out of selfish fear that training would devolve into rolling in the flowers with Ubbe. There was a pull in it that Dagny foolishly believed wouldn't be there when she asked the eldest prince for this favor. She hoped it was born of nothing but friendship on her part. Ubbe could be a skald, the way he made her believe that it meant something to him, that part of him had always found her somewhat desirable. But she saw his eyes go to Margrethe whenever they passed each other. It did not matter because Dagny's eyes would always go to Ivar. She just did not want to sacrifice the bond they now had over something so thoughtless.

Sigurd did not much care for archery, particularly since Dagny was now able to hit an unmoving target. So he raced her on horseback through the meadows while Ubbe cheered her on and he gave her a sword to spar with. It was the length of her torso and blunted so that no real harm could be done.

He made her do the easiest exercises until she could perform them with her eyes closed. He was the one that made her pick her up a shield. She tried a little with it every day until she built up enough stamina to either carry it on her back or keep it on her arm for hours at a time. Most evenings, her arms were shaking when they finished. Sigurd said that was a good thing, would tap her on the arm with the side of his sword, and give her a knowing look, something that told her he knew all her fears, had seen Ubbe's yearning and Dagny's failing fight with desire. It said to tread carefully and while Dagny had always been a cautious girl, she knew he was right.

Because when Sigurd left early, as he always did, it was back to just she and Ubbe. She did not mind this, never had, because even with the thought of kissing his throat and his knuckles and the skin beneath his ear, there was something comforting about being around him. He did not make her feel inadequate or untalented, even though she was certain she was. Instead, he made her feel valued and special and like a regular girl, not one who had ever served his family. For someone who those feelings were new to, there was such significance in that that Dagny could not help attaching at least _some_ positive thought to him.

And when Ubbe would sit by her on the forest floor after a rough day of training and their chests were heaving and sweat dotted their brows, Dagny would let her fingers creep towards his. It always started this way and she lied to herself, pretending that nothing would come of it. But Ubbe would cut his eyes, eyes so ludicrously blue that Dagny could see why girls in town would barely let him walk freely down the street, and he would lean over, so close that her skin would prickle. Then it was slow, languorous kissing along jaws and collarbones with fingers grabbing handfuls of fabric and hair.

In the cabin Lagertha had allowed them, Dagny's bed faced Ubbe's. In the night, he would often turn to face her. This was a curse, one that was supplemented by wearing Hvitserk's tunics and having Ivar's axe beneath her mattress. Why, she wondered, could nothing be simple? Why could nothing be as she thought?

She could stand on her leg fairly well after a few weeks. This was a boon to Sigurd, who never went easy on her, just slammed the full weight of his body against her shield and knocked her down. Dagny bore that as best as she could and pretended it did not bother her, which was key with Sigurd. If he could not have proof that he had wedged his way under your skin, he would eventually stop. After days of this, seemingly ceaselessly, he would hit her just as hard but she could stand against it more firmly. At the end of one day, Dagny lying on her back in the dirt from another of Sigurd's famous charges, he offered her a hand and in his eyes, she saw something she had been striving for all this time; his approval.

"What's between you and Ubbe?" Sigurd asked on a rare day that Ubbe wasn't with them, bringing an axe down onto Dagny's yellow shield. She felt the blow reverberate up her arm. It set her teeth to chattering.

"What do you mean?" She pushed at him with the shield but it was pointless. Her leg was still not completely healed and she could not put her full weight into anything.

"You know what I mean." The edge of the axe hooked the shield and Sigurd pulled it. Dagny stumbled, tried to put all she had into a heavy push, but he managed to keep them there, locked. They were so close that she could finally see that split in his pupil, why they called him snake-in-the-eye. "I know what you do out here. I'm not a fool."

Dagny gave way just a smidge. Her feet slid back. "I don't care what you know, Sigurd. I thought we made a pact not to speak of these things."

He scoffed. "What pact was that? You and I exchanging a look in a dark hallway is nothing."

"Then you do not care if people know who you bed." Color ran into his cheeks. He unhooked the axe and kicked her shield. Dagny hit the ground unceremoniously.

"Do you know where Ubbe is right now?" She groaned, letting the shield fall away from her.

"No, I don't." She stood, unbalanced, and brushed herself off.

"He's with Margrethe on the beach. I am sure he's selling her the same dreams he sold you."

Dagny was deadly calm, the ocean before a storm. "I have no quarrel with Margrethe," she said, pausing between each word. "And I am free now."

"Oh yes, you are free now," Sigurd replied with a smirk. "How dare I forget."

"What is your problem with me, Sigurd? How have I angered you? What have I done to earn your scorn?" For a moment, they just looked at one another. "This is all about Ivar. I am not a fool either."

"Unfortunately, neither is he. I don't know what break in your sanity caused you to cast your eyes on Ubbe but you should remedy that before the raiders return. I can't imagine it is something that will please Hvitserk either."

Dagny felt her nostrils flare. "It is none of your concern but Ubbe is teaching me so that I do not disappoint your brothers."

Sigurd snorted. "So that Ivar does not strangle you, more likely."

She did not dignify that with a response. "There is nothing between Ubbe and I and I do not care who knows about it." A lie. "We are friends. He is my closest friend."

"Friends do not do the things you do. They don't look at each other that way."

"In what way?" Dagny's voice lowered. Part of her genuinely didn't know. She did look at Ubbe, just not like she looked at Hvitserk. Not like she looked at Ivar.

Sigurd sighed and the expression on his face made her think he felt sorry for her. "We can make the pact now." He extended a hand and Dagny clasped his forearm.

"I would never have said anything about you," she muttered.

"I know." She went to pick back up her shield and Sigurd said, "Just be careful, Dagny. You are playing a dangerous game."

"I'm going to tell them. I'm not going to keep it secret."

He shook his head. "Perhaps, you shouldn't mention it."

Barely a day later, Dagny sat with Ubbe on the stone by the lake. It was early in the morning so that they could avoid the eyes of Lagertha's shieldmaidens, who had taken to wanting to watch the princes do everything. She could not blame them, when Ubbe and Sigurd were obviously training her.

"Do you feel any different?" Ubbe asked. She turned and cocked her head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"Now that you're free."

"I feel… healthier." Ubbe's mouth split into a grin. "The sleep is much better. But I am still working from sun up to sundown so some things have not changed."

"Things will change when my brothers return." There was a long moment of silence and then, "What do you want, Dagny?"

"Right now?"

"Out of life. Do you want to be married? Do you want to farm? Or do you want to be like Ivar and fight all your days?"

"I… don't know. I suppose I haven't really given it much thought. What do you want?"

"The best of everything. I want to marry a woman I love and I want to raid and I want to have children that I can watch grow up in a small house with a warm hearth."

Dagny let out a breath. "That sounds nice."

"It will be."

"Do you know what I want?" Ubbe turned and shook his head, interested. "I want to be friends with you for all my life. Promise me that it will be true," she said because Sigurd's words were a fire within her, something burning in her core. Ubbe raised an eyebrow, the idea of them separating utterly preposterous.

"Of course, we will always be friends. What is the alternative? Enemies?" Ubbe scoffed. "You and I will be friends until death and I hope we will be friends even after."

He nudged her and Dagny tilted her head back, letting herself laugh. But wind rippled through the air, dousing the summer heat, and a chill crept up her spine. Ubbe kissed her and tossed her into the lake and all the while, she felt that chill. _Do not let it be true,_ she pleaded beneath the water. _Do not let us turn against each other._

The horns sounded, so loud that even deep in the forest their boom could be heard. "Ships," Ubbe and Dagny realized at the same time. She was the first to claw her way of the water because Dagny knew, in the same way she knew many things, that Ivar was aboard one of those boats.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi everyone! How are you guys doing? I hope you are ready for the New Year! I am going on vacation next week so I wanted to upload before I left. Hope you all had a great holiday season. I've graduated so now I'm looking for a job** **L** **Wish me luck! Anyway, I felt sort of strange writing this chapter (its hard to explain) so if anything feels off to you as well, you can let me know. Actually, if any of you are interested in beta reading for me, I would appreciate and I would be more than willing to return the favor! As usual, I only own Dagny. Thank you so much for all of your kind comments!**

Ivar spent the majority of the journey back to Kattegat hanging over the side of the Saxon ship, retching. Nothing he ate stayed down. He could not blame it completely on the water nor completely on grief. It was some mix of everything, taking its time poisoning him.

When Ubbe and Sigurd grabbed hold of him, wrapping his arms around either of their shoulders, Ivar knew he had the pallor of prolonged sickness. He knew that his hair, just a shade longer, was sticking to the sweat on his brow. It was not the image he wanted to project but part of him simply no longer cared.

Finally, he looked down the dock, took in just how much seemed different. There were so many shieldmaidens and people he didn't recognize. Something was not right. The strangeness that accompanied that realization faded away when he saw Dagny at the end of the dock, leaning against a post like standing hurt her.

She looked taller, which should be impossible, but then Ivar realized that she had her shoulders thrown back. It was not the stance of a slave. Her gown was of some color that teetered between green and blue. Ivar had never seen it before. It seemed finer than most things he'd seen Dagny wear, unless it was a special occasion and Aslaug had something made for her. This _was_ a special occasion. He had managed to come home and survive the voyage when no one else had. But Ivar looked her over once more. The gown may have been fine but it did not disguise how she was favoring her right leg and it did not hide how her figure had filled out and how she had put on weight. Perhaps it had even been bought to accommodate that. Ivar had never thought of Dagny as too thin or built like a bird but seeing her now, he knew she must have always been a little too small. Dagny at the end of the dock looked regal with her waist-length hair in waves and her skin like bone. She did not look the same as the day he boarded Ragnar's ship. It was a good thing, he thought, if this meant she was healthier, if this meant she would come when he exacted revenge for the death of his father.

Dagny followed behind them at some distance as his brothers took Ivar through town. He turned, looked over his shoulder at her, and saw that she was limping. It was not bad by any means, something that would go away the more she practiced, but why did she have it at all? Why were they heading to the cottage instead of the great hall?

Ivar sat at the table in the cabin. Ubbe barely helped him to the chair before turning around and going back for Dagny, who apparently spurned his help because she walked in on her own. Ubbe shrugged at Sigurd when he came back, as if stubbornness summed all of Dagny's attributes up. But he watched her anyway. Ivar saw his eyes follow her as she came to sit down at the table. The wound on her leg must have been bad at one time for Ubbe to worry so.

Across the room, Sigurd and Ubbe talked lowly, fixing a meal.

"What happened to your leg?" Ivar asked, seizing the opportunity. In response, Dagny lifted her skirt enough to show him the skin of her calf. There was a scar that ran its length, from knee to ankle. It was a fine line, not ugly like so many warriors, which told him she'd regain full use of it. The worse the scar, the worse the injury.

"It is hard to believe but this is the best it's looked," she replied and let the skirt drop.

"Who did this to you?" Ivar's voice was a growl and it threatened violence.

"Lagertha," she replied solemnly. He opened his mouth to question that but Dagny immediately asked, "Where is your father?"

Ivar knew from the look on her face that she expected his answer. "You were right."

Something passed over Dagny's expression, a cold and a shock and a knowing.

"My father is dead."

"Oh, Ivar." She made his name contain sorrow, rage, love. There was a flash in his eyes that spoke of all those things and more.

Across the room, Ubbe was squaring his shoulders. "Where is everyone else? Where is Ragnar?" he said, sitting at the head of the table. Ivar thought he was only pretending not to have heard.

"King Ecbert handed him over to King Aelle," he responded, voice grim.

"Why?" At this, Ivar shrugged. Sigurd sat down across from Dagny and they exchanged a look, the meaning of which he couldn't automatically decipher.

"He is probably dead already. We will have to avenge him." There was no emotion to the words, just resignation. He went on to describe what happened, that Aelle may be the killer but Ragnar wanted justice against Ecbert as well, that Ivar being taken home was a condition Ragnar had made Ecbert agree to. "He wanted us to retaliate."

Ubbe, carefully drumming his fingers against the tabletop, gave a nod. Sigurd nodded as well.

"What do you think, Dagny?" he asked, cutting his eyes to her. She did not hesitate.

"Of course, you should do it. It is what Ragnar wanted," she responded.

"And you will come," he said with a nod. It was a command and one he knew she was well-equipped to fulfill. Though perpetually sick as a child, Dagny had grown up strong. With a season of training, she could be skilled enough to fight.

"If she wishes," Ubbe said. Ivar looked at his older brother as if he had spoken an entirely different language. "She's free now."

He turned, leveled his gaze at her, and everything seemed to fall into place. The new clothes, the weight, the way she carried herself.

"What happened while I was away?"

Dagny turned solemn but still she smiled, an expression like watered down ale. And they told him everything. By the end, Ivar's fingers were clenched so tightly around the chess piece Alfred gave him that blood colored the white figure red.

* * *

Ivar was going to kill Lagertha. This was a simple conclusion for him to make as she had done everything imaginable to draw his ire. Dagny's leg, the death of Aslaug, tricking Ubbe and Sigurd, taking over Kattegat as if it wasn't his birthright.

"You can do better, Dagny, I know it," Ubbe was saying. He was training in the meadow with her while Ivar watched, a distraction from grief and anger. This was something he had learned they did every day, for hours. Sigurd said it as if he was sitting upon a great and treasured secret.

Ubbe and Dagny had grown close in his absence. He'd seen that in the days since he returned home. It wouldn't bother Hvitserk. Normally, it would not bother him. But there was something to their friendship that Ivar distinctly did not care for. But Dagny was free now and Ubbe still spent much of his time walking through the market, waiting for a glimpse of Margrethe. Maybe it was because Ivar knew little of real friendship, real loyalty. Maybe it was jealousy that Ubbe was so easy to like and get along with.

Dagny hacked at Ubbe's shield with her sword and brought up her own shield in time to block his next blow. She was not the greatest shieldmaiden yet but nor was she the worst. Ivar would have been grateful to have her beside them in England. Still, she lacked polish at times and appeared weak at others. But she had to begin somewhere. Ubbe gave way when Dagny gave his shield a push with her own, one of the rare instances where Ivar had seen him go easy on her.

"Don't do that!" she said, laughing. "I can take it. Come at me full-strength."

Ubbe grinned and it was a face Ivar only saw him wear when he was at his happiest.

They had a routine, Dagny and Ubbe. Sometimes Ivar only watched from the trees, without them knowing he was there, and it was always the same. Archery first, which had to be Dagny's greatest skill. She was patient, yet quick, and she rarely missed a target. Ubbe could throw an apple into the air, almost completely silent, and she could spear it instantly. Then there was training with swords and shields and axes. She was fairly good at this as well, if a little rough. Still, she had yet to beat Ubbe. Finally, there was sparring hand-to-hand. Dagny was always just barely disguising a smile during it, even when knocked flat on her back.

Ivar wondered at this secret that Sigurd was guarding like a dragon with his hoard. He wondered at the hours that added into days and weeks that Ubbe had spent out here with Dagny. He wondered at his older brother freeing her without a thought given to anyone else. He wondered at how it happened. Was it beneath the trees here in the forest? Was it before his mother's body? Was it with Dagny's hands in Ubbe's, a promise of the expected kind followed swiftly after? But Ubbe loved Margrethe and freedom had not changed Dagny, not truly. She could have left his family long ago, when Ubbe first said the words. She was still here, still performing many of the duties she had when she was a slave.

"Would you spar with me, Ivar?" He looked up at the sound of Dagny's voice. She was standing beside him now, wearing a breastplate of leather over a blue tunic and pants. It was a look that Ivar savored.

"Haven't you tasted enough defeat at the hands of my brother?" he replied.

"I have been going easy on him." Ubbe scoffed from across the meadow.

Ivar's full mouth curved into a smirk. Dagny's hand clenched into a fist at her side, near to the ax he'd given her, but she smiled. Given the chance, Ivar thought she might eat him alive.

She was on the ground in the next instant. All it took was the swing of his arm and the right shift of his weight and he was above her, arms on either side of her waist. A well-placed kick to his hip had him on the ground beside her and her hands coming for his throat. But though Dagny had been training regularly and was already innately strong, she was no match for Ivar, who did not even pretend it was a fair fight.

Dagny laughed on her back in the brush beside him and it was the first time since leaving for England that Ivar felt something other than rage and hatred and unbridled sadness.

She had witnessed Aslaug's death, with the numbness that often accompanies things like war, and nothing Lagertha did would give Dagny cause to forgive her. When the new queen called for ditches and ramparts to be built, Dagny gave no agreement. When they passed each other, Dagny only gave a cursory look to her. And Ubbe said she had asked, more than once, what their plan was regarding the queen. Ivar often felt ridiculous and weak when he thought of Dagny but this did much to change his mind.

Her fingers brushed the back of his knuckles and Ivar stayed still, so still.

"Do the two of you plan to lay out here all night?" Ubbe asked. Ivar was tempted to say yes, for the welcome distraction from grief that Dagny could be, but she took her hand away and was on her feet quickly.

"Not unless you're making dinner," she replied and Ubbe put his hand to his chest in mock-hurt.

"Those are words of war and I will remember them," he said, giving her a nudge.

Ivar deliberately waited to start moving until Ubbe was farther along the path. Dagny kept pace beside him, her leg seeming ever better. Part of Ivar, the stupid boyish part that he wanted to put behind him, thought this meant fate tied them together. His rational side knew it meant absolutely nothing.

"You like Ubbe, don't you?" he finally said, the sun getting low and the branches casting long shadows on the ground beside him. It was harder to speak to Dagny now that she was free.

"Doesn't everyone?" Dagny responded.

"Yes, but there is more to it for you." He saw her shoulders tighten for a moment.

"I do not know that I have ever had a friend, not truly, and he has been one to me. He acts like I was never a slave." Something appeared to be giving her trouble, as if the saying of it might mean grave consequences. "Ivar-" she started.

"Were you lying to me?" Ivar asked, voice small. This, he hated. Because he knew that Dagny was not so deft at pretending that she could fool even the cleverest among them. He knew she wanted him. He could see it in her eyes. But what if he was wrong? What if he was as naïve as Dagny had been that day she came upon Margrethe and Hvitserk?

"About what?" Dagny stopped walking, her pale skin white as the moon.

"Anything that you have said in my favor." He did not meet her gaze, defiant. "Anything you have said of me at all."

"Of course not!" She bent down and made him look at her, his chin caught in her fingers. "I never say anything I don't mean."

"Then tell me," Ivar murmured. "Tell me as a free woman."

"It is no secret that I covet you, Ivar. It is something everyone knows, even Lagertha." She dropped her hand, the new queen's name a poison. "And I will follow you for all my days."

Ivar gripped the back of her neck and put his lips on hers. It was harsh, so harsh, and Ivar still did not know what he was doing, but it was enough to drown the doubts tumbling through his mind. What of Hvitserk? What of Dagny's greatest friend, Ubbe? If the day came when they did not stand with him, when Ivar was as a great a warrior as he dreamed of becoming, where would Dagny's love lie? No one truly loved Ivar, no one but Aslaug and Ragnar and Floki. No one but Dagny. Four people, two of them dead. He had more fingers on one hand than that. Love was weakness and it caused such absurdity. Ivar hated it. And yet, he did not.

Dagny pulled away, a dreamy sort of look on her face that Ivar pretended to find ridiculous.

"Do you really want me to join you in England?" she asked when they resumed making their way back into town.

"Of course, I do. I never say anything I don't mean." Dagny smiled. "And we have need of skilled archers."

She scoffed. "I am a terrible archer. I am not you."

"No one is me." She gave the barest laugh. "I have been watching you train. You are excellent at it."

"I am lucky." But she flushed so Ivar knew she liked his praise. "Ubbe has told me I am good at it as well but I thought it might be because archers tend not to be in a shield wall."

"If you want to fight in the shield wall, you should do it." Dagny gave him a bewildered look, the thought of actually being supported in wanting to fight apparently new to her. "Ubbe is sometimes… overbearing. Protective. Fearful." This last was said with disdain.

"He is no coward, Ivar." Yesterday, he had challenged Lagertha to single combat and Ubbe had tried to talk him down. He was surprised that Dagny remembered his callously calling his brother a coward. "He is simply cautious." And caution was a language Dagny was fluent in, Ivar knew. "Sometimes, waiting and plotting is the wise path to take. Especially when we will need her warriors to seek revenge for Ragnar's murder."

"I still say we kill her. She must pay for what she's done."

"I agree and it cannot come soon enough."

Dagny, paying in full for her criticism of Ubbe's cooking, made dinner with Sigurd's help. Ivar didn't see how it could really be called that, when all he did was take the food and place it on the table when Dagny was finished with it.

"We have important decisions to make," Ubbe said once they had all finished eating. Dagny and Sigurd sat side-by-side. They were an odd pair by anyone's reckoning.

"I'm listening. Say something interesting," replied Ivar. It made Dagny's lips part in a grin and Ubbe groan.

"We want blood revenge against Aelle, correct?" Dagny nodded. Sigurd said yes.

"Not only against Aelle. I told you. King Ecbert offered our father up like a sacrifice. We should do the same to him. That is what our father wanted. That is the message he wanted me to bring to you." Ubbe's features contorted into that look that said he was older and thus, he knew better. Ivar hated it.

"That's very easy to say, Ivar."

"Oh, there he is," he hissed in response, disdain clear in his tone. "The voice of reason. I hate reason."

"I am just thinking that Aelle has a small kingdom and Ecbert's kingdom is vast. How do we overcome that when we have never attempted anything like it before?"

"Raise an army, a large army, like out of legend," Dagny said. Ubbe nodded at her plate and she rolled her eyes before finishing off her last scrap of bread. She was still learning to have a larger appetite.

"A great army, bigger than anything ever seen before," agreed Sigurd.

"Sigurd and Dagny are right," Ivar said. The two of them exchanged a look of disbelief and frankly, part of him wanted to laugh at it. "We can call in favors. We make deals with kings and earls that we hate. Whatever we have to promise them, we promise. In the end, we summon an army twice the size that Ragnar took to Paris."

"Then we declare war on England," Sigurd said.

"No," Ivar replied. "We declare war on the whole world." Dagny's eyes brightened across the table but Ubbe tensed at his side. Perhaps, Dagny was not so cautious as he thought.

That night, after everyone else was asleep, Ivar crept across the room to Dagny's bed. He was not sure what possessed him to do this, particularly since Ubbe's bed faced hers. Maybe it was even _because_ of that.

He clamped his hand over her mouth. She thrashed immediately, searching for something to hit him with, but Ivar held a finger to his lips and she recognized him. Just a short distance away, Ubbe turned over, ruffling his bedclothes.

"What are you doing?" Dagny whispered as Ivar crawled onto the bed. She winced when it creaked.

"What do you think I am doing?" he murmured back and put his arms on either side of her. Ivar liked looking down on Dagny. It was such a rarity and therefore, such a pleasure.

She fought it, he could tell by the way she tensed, but she smiled. Ivar wondered if it was because she could see things before they happened, if she'd known all these years that he desired her and finally, he had mustered the courage to kiss her when he wanted instead of hide behind vitriol and exaggerated cruelty.

He leaned down, feeling the muscles in his arms quiver, even though they had been carrying him everywhere since he was a child. Dagny opened her mouth to him. Her fingers were light against his face, which confused him. Ivar thought that if you wanted someone that you held on tight, even to the point of pain. He gathered the bedding in his hands on either side of her and gripped it until he feared it might tear.

"Ivar," she murmured. Her hands had found his hair and this was a harsher grasp than the last.

"Yes," he said into the skin of her collarbone. Dagny arched, brushed her chest against his, and Ivar fought the growl that wanted to climb out of his throat.

"We shouldn't be doing this. Ubbe is right there." Ivar looked over and saw his older brother was facing them in sleep. He'd seen Ubbe asleep often enough to know that he was lost to this realm for a few more hours at least.

"He will be proud, of you and of me." The apples of Dagny's cheeks colored, the red of blood and battlefields far away. "Why do you care so, for his opinion?"

"He freed me," she replied, fingers landing on Ivar's smooth cheek. "I owe him a life debt." Ivar had had very few real conversations with Dagny since returning to Kattegat. Mostly they were diversions from the real issues, like that she was free now or that both his parents were dead. It was to her credit, Ivar thought, that she never mentioned anything unless he brought it up.

"A life debt," he echoed, as if her whole relationship with Ubbe could be summed up by those words. When he gave it thought, Ivar found it made sense.

"One I will never be able to repay in full." Her fingers were still light against his skin, on his throat and his cheek. "I should tell you something." Now her fingers found his hair, the back of his neck. It was deliberate.

"I don't want to talk anymore," he responded, just because he was sure it was something he didn't want to hear.

"All right." Dagny pressed her lips to his and raked her fingers down his back.

He was not sure how long he kissed her. It could have been hours but he thought it must have only been mere minutes, the shortest amount of time that he was under her thrall. He laid on his back beside her and something in him thought this was even better. Her chest rose and fell in time with his own.

"I did not think this through," Ivar whispered, because he too did not much care for an audience, even if Ubbe was in a sleep as deep as the sea. And who knew if he could even do it? He did not care to discover that now, not when Sigurd could tease him for it.

"It is just as well," she murmured and twisted to look at him, head against his shoulder. It unnerved him. "I want to take my time."

"And what does that entail?"

Dagny shrugged but the look on her face belied just how long she'd been thinking of it. It said she could make this last days and weeks and that she had a plan for how she wanted it all to go. Ivar often thought waiting was excruciating but in many ways, this did not seem so bad.

"I am not patient."

"I am patient enough for us both." Her lips split into an exquisite grin. It burned its image in Ivar's mind and erased so much that he felt unhappy with, for the moment at least.

He was across the room, in his own bed, before he ever began to wonder about what she wanted to tell him. He looked over his shoulder at her and she was on her side. She cast her gaze on Ubbe for the briefest moment and then turned over. There was something wistful in the gaze that Ivar couldn't decipher. He could concede that Ubbe was, perhaps, Dagny's first experience with real friendship and disappointing him made her anxious. Ivar didn't have friends, not in the traditional sense. Not unless whatever bond he had with Dagny counted. Brothers were obligated by blood to be there for you and even them he could not rely upon. Ivar supposed he had always had Floki but that seemed unfair to a man who had had to occupy so many various roles in his life; teacher, mentor, friend.

Ubbe was having to play those roles for Dagny now. And Ivar thought that perhaps he played them too well.

* * *

Lagertha would not commit herself or any of her warriors to the great army. This did not surprise Dagny and she doubted it surprised Ubbe. Still, they had made the trek to the ramparts that morning to ask her. Margrethe was working in the mud, filthy, and again Dagny felt a pang of pity for her. She knew Ubbe felt the same because his eyes lingered on her for a long time.

Thinking of this made her sluggish and Ubbe hit her shoulder with the end of his sword. It threw her off-balance, her right leg still smarting on occasion, and she collapsed.

"You're better than this, Dagny. Something is distracting you," Ubbe said. He laid down beside her. She took a deep breath.

"And nothing is distracting you?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"I did not say that." There was silence for a long time. She and Ubbe had never actually spoken about the things they'd done. In fact, she had no idea of his thoughts on it at all. She just knew that, logically, it had gone as expected. She had learned to please a man while Ivar and Hvitserk were on raid and now it was done. There was no discussion of it between them and frankly, that was the way Dagny thought it should be. It said friendship more than uncoupling and she was glad that, despite her earlier fears, there was no awkwardness between them.

Ivar had been home only a short while but it felt like ages. Many days they did not even see him, as he sequestered himself at the blacksmith's or on the hillside. He was always angry, always sad. Dagny did not know if he loathed Ubbe for freeing her or if he'd considered doing it himself or if it even mattered to him at all. She knew little about his time away and he knew little of what she'd done while he was gone. In fact, she was unsure whether Ivar liked her for herself or if he just enjoyed the fact that she was enamored with him.

Ubbe's knuckles touched the back of her hand. At first, she thought this was an accident but he never moved away. Dagny fought the instinct to turn her hand over and link their fingers.

"Ivar's cruelty will one day turn you against him," Ubbe said, voice solemn. "It will not always be stolen kisses in the night."

Dagny did not respond. She just looked upward at the interweaving branches of the trees and felt her face redden. _The voice of reason, indeed,_ she thought.

"You don't see it. Not yet."

"Ubbe, I do see it," she replied. "Now pick up your sword."

He had a shield on his arm and a sword in hand a few moments later. Dagny joined him. He jerked his chin and Dagny came forward, brought her own sword down. Ubbe pushed back, moved the shield the instant her sword left it and brought his blade up. It clanged against hers. Dagny thought, not for the first time and probably not the last, that she would never be a match for him. She would never be as quick or as strong. But those qualities weren't everything and she swung down so that her practice sword caught his legs under the shield.

"Good!" he said. "Again."

They continued like this for a while, until Dagny could see how distracted he was becoming. Ubbe was rarely like this.

"What are you giving so much thought to?" she reluctantly asked, hoping that it wasn't Ivar or how she'd kissed him in the dark.

"I am thinking about what I am going to do," he replied, pacing around, still holding his sword and shield. Dagny vaguely gestured that he should continue. He took a deep breath. "I am going to free Margrethe."

"What?" Dagny's arm wanted to give beneath the weight of her yellow shield, she wanted to throw her sword on the ground. Still, she found she couldn't be angry about it. Hadn't she known this would come one day? "Why would you do that?"

Ubbe's eyes sharpened, as if he thought her tone was disguising rage or hurt or some combination of the two. "Why do you think, Dagny?"

"To marry her." Her voice was so small, so quiet, and Ubbe's expression softened. Her fingers curled around the base of the sword, nails digging into her palm. "You can't do this, Ubbe."

"And why not?"

"She betrayed you! She played a game and had you and Sigurd locked in a barn so that Lagertha could kill your mother. I shouldn't think that I would have to tell you that." Ubbe sighed, like Dagny's thoughts were akin to Ivar and Sigurd's petulant fighting. It wasn't a sound she cared for.

"And I shouldn't think that I would have to remind you of what Margrethe's life is like." There was such disappointment in his tone that Dagny felt ashamed. "She has to make hard choices. She is a slave. How can I judge her for that?"

"Because I was a slave and I stayed by your side! I was loyal to your family and to your _mother_."

Ubbe shook his head and his lips were pursed. "She is not you, Dagny. And I cannot pretend to understand the hardships she has endured. Nor can you. Not truly." She said nothing in response, just felt her arms begin to shake in anger. She hoped he couldn't see it. "This doesn't befit you." And there it was again, the disappointment. Dagny cared little for anyone else's opinion but Ubbe was different. Ubbe made her want to measure up, made her want to impress him and do better.

"I'm sorry," she said, even as she knew her nails were drawing blood from her palm. But she was sorry, truly she was. "I know you love her and I know you are a good man, a better man than any I've known." Ubbe met her gaze. It was soft and lovely and Dagny hoped Margrethe saw it in her dreams at night. "She is lucky that you would overlook that."

"Give me a reason, Dagny." She stared at him in disbelief. "Any reason at all not to free her or marry her." That, she couldn't do, not without being a hypocrite. She would never want to take an opportunity for freedom away from a fellow slave, even when they were only out for themselves.

"I can't," she murmured.

"Do you love Ivar?" Ubbe tossed away the shield and sword and crossed his arms.

"What does it matter?"

"I just want to know." It was foolish, Dagny knew, but she thought whatever her answer was might change his mind. But she was not a liar. She could not pretend. Frankly, she had never been able to.

"Yes… I fear that I do." Ubbe sighed, this being something he expected. He walked over to her, took her shield, and unwrapped her fingers from around the sword. Dagny did not look away from him but she would be unsurprised if the handle was stained red.

"We do not choose our fates. That is for the gods to decide," he said. She barely nodded. "And it is a pity, if that is yours."

His hand came to the side of her face. She wanted to know why he had turned on Ivar when just a few months ago he had supported her caring for him. But she did not ask. She did not want Sigurd proven right or something else to carry.

Dagny was not prone to being emotional but when Ubbe headed back to town, she cried. She was not even sure what was causing it, anger or disappointment or _jealousy._ When that word entered her mind, she pulled Ivar's ax from her belt and hurled it at a target a long distance away. When it found the center, she was crying no longer. She would not sacrifice her friendship with Ubbe on an altar of envy or lust. She would not sacrifice anything, not anymore.

 **So I know a lot of people are into Dagny/Ubbe so don't think this is the full end of anything between them! Especially with the way Margrethe and Ivar are acting this season, lol. Besides, I have too much fun writing them.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Okay so nothing got done in this chapter that I wanted done! But it was so hard writing it and then it got really sprawling long so I decided to make a break between this chapter and the next. I have no idea why but I just really struggled with this one. I deleted and started over multiple times so that was some of the delay! But one of my New Year's Resolutions is to update once a month so I just barely got this in on the last day of January here in the US, lol. Kind of a success? Also thanks again for all of the reviews, favs, and follows. Like it is insane to me I am at over 200 reviews. Also crazy that I have been working on this story for over a year! Thanks so much. I hope you're all doing well and that you enjoy the chapter. My poor girl Dagny is so stressed, lol, and beginning to see some potential bad side to Ivar? Anyway, hopefully the next update won't be so far away. Keep me to my New Year's Resolution!**

Dagny took a bite of an apple. Her shoulders were so tight that it was beginning to make the rest of her body ache.

Across the table, Margrethe, newly freed and pretty in a way that had never been diminished by her time as a slave, was slowly taking a drink. If it was possible, she appeared more anxious than Dagny. Her eyes dropped to the goblet in her hand after a sip, skeptical. She had yet to touch much of the food on her plate.

Dagny had invited Margrethe to a meal almost immediately after Ubbe freed her. But now that the girl was sitting in front of her, she wasn't sure she could say anything that she intended. Margrethe clearly thought she'd been invited only for Dagny to affront her. The way she was still eyeing her goblet made her think that Margrethe believed it poisoned. She lifted her eyes to the rafters of the cabin and took another bite of apple. She prayed that she wasn't making yet another terrible mistake.

"I should… apologize to you, Margrethe," Dagny began. The blonde girl finally set her goblet down.

"What do you have to apologize for?" Margrethe leaned onto the oaken table and crossed her arms.

"You don't have to act as if you don't know. We are alone, after all." Dagny turned her apple and took another bite. She'd succeeded in having the cabin alone for the early evening at least. Ivar was at the blacksmith's with Sigurd, where they would be arguing over something senseless for hours to come, and Ubbe was in town. Dagny figured that he knew what this was about and said nothing just to spare her pride.

"Dagny, in all fairness, we have never had a true conversation about anything and so I cannot hold it against you." _But I've held it against you,_ Dagny thought abhorrently. She was still doing it now. There had been a knot of stress between her shoulder blades since Ubbe first mentioned freeing her, marrying her. Nothing made it go away.

"Still, I have treated you unfairly and I know that I was extremely fortunate for a slave. I cannot imagine what has happened in your life. For all that I have done and said, please forgive me." Dagny had practiced this speech multiple times over the past few days. She said it to herself in the stained and battered looking glass, when she was soaking in a warm bath after a day of training, as she stared at the ceiling at night. She meant the words so she hoped they sounded genuine. Margrethe going over to Lagertha was an offense that Dagny did not feel ready to forgive but still, it needed to be done.

Margrethe stilled before looking down at her plate. "There is nothing to forgive."

Dagny let out a breath, an actual sigh of relief. She wanted to be Margrethe's friend, whether she'd had an unwitting hand in the death of Aslaug or not. Indeed, she needed to be for the sake of her friendship with Ubbe. But Asdis's loss had dealt a blow to Dagny, even if the girl had been judgmental and nosy, and Margrethe might help her get over it.

"It was because of Ivar that there has been this strain between us, right?" Margrethe asked.

Dagny's jaw tightened for the briefest moment. "Yes. Ivar is special to me." There were no words that could sum up the spell Dagny often thought Ivar had placed her under but "special" would have to be enough.

"And Ubbe is special to me." Dagny tilted her head back for the briefest moment, black hair falling over her shoulders. _Here it is_ , she thought.

"I understand."

"Do you love him?" Margrethe asked, fingers curled around the edge of the table, face flushed. Dagny was not the only one to suffer from jealousy.

"Not in that way," she replied but it was partially said through her teeth.

"Then why-"

"Because I knew nothing and he knows it all." It hung in the air between them that Dagny did not want to end up as Margrethe had, that she planned on proving her wrong. But neither of them said anything. "Ubbe loves you. I see it in his eyes." Margrethe did not bother saying the same of Ivar. It would not be true. Dagny doubted whether Margrethe believed the crippled prince was capable of feeling a simple and decent emotion. She knew that much of what she saw in his blue eyes was want and possession. It was not love, not in the way that Margrethe imagined it.

"What of Hvitserk?" In truth, Dagny had afforded him little thought at all these past months. She had not had the time or so she told herself. Frankly, she was a coward, afraid of facing him. Because whatever was between them was pale against her loyalty to Ubbe, against the madness Ivar made her feel. "Will you marry him?"

Dagny choked, grateful she'd finished the apple off moments before. "Marry him?"

"I will marry Ubbe. It makes sense that Hvitserk will be next."

"I can't marry anyone. I am to be a shieldmaiden. I am to avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok." Her voice swelled with pride and love at the man's name.

Margrethe shrugged and finally pulled a piece of meat off the bone before throwing it in her mouth. "That does not mean you cannot marry."

Dagny had a variety of answers to that, not a one of them good. To stop herself from saying them, she took a drink of wine.

"You won't marry Ivar. He cannot have children." As if that was the beginning and end of all reasons to marry. As if that truly mattered at all to Dagny. "You could do much worse than Hvitserk. He is generous and very talented." She arched an eyebrow.

"Stop," she groaned and Margrethe laughed, a look in her eyes that Dagny might term madness. It took her a moment to realize that perhaps Margrethe had been teasing this entire time.

"Or you could marry King Harald. I have heard he is quite romantic." Dagny grinned and she thought if most of their conversations went this way, friendship with Margrethe would be fine indeed.

"I am not marrying until I am old," Dagny decided and Margrethe laughed again.

* * *

"Again!" Ubbe said, which had Dagny wanting to groan. Ubbe was a good teacher but when he wanted, he could be a formidable opponent, and part of her wondered if he could best her without even trying. It certainly seemed so.

Dagny's short sword came up to catch against Ubbe's and it seemed to lock them there for an unreasonable amount of time. An amount of time where she forgot her continuous aches and pains and everything that had been placing her on edge recently. Dagny liked fighting and she could enjoy it with any partner. Astrid, that day in town, Sigurd, when he deemed it acceptable, and Ivar, who looked at everything like a game of chess, where strategy and cleverness would win against brute strength. But she liked it best with Ubbe, as he seemed to enjoy it as much as she did.

Ubbe twisted his wrist and his blade came beneath hers. With just the barest pressure applied, her sword flew away from her. Dagny did groan at this because she rarely won and the times she did, she thought Ubbe had given her the victory. But his winning smile was one she treasured and one of the rare expressions he had that made him resemble his brothers.

"I hope I never meet you in battle," Dagny declared. Ubbe picked up her sword and handed its hilt to her. He furrowed his brow.

"Why should you? We will be on the same side." The wind whistled through the trees and the flowers of the meadow seemed colorless for the briefest second. It made Dagny want to retch. She decided to go to the seer, if he would speak with someone from as lowly a background as her own.

"Perhaps not always," she murmured. Again his brow furrowed and he tapped the edge of his sword against her own. She placed her feet apart and readied herself for his next blow.

"Perhaps not always?" he questioned but there was a laugh in his tone and it made Dagny smile despite herself. "What have I done to earn your ire, Dagny of the shield wall?"

"Nothing," she said, biting back a laugh that seemed inappropriate given the feeling in her gut. And indeed, it was difficult to see how Ubbe could do anything that would sever their bond. It would mean a rift between him and Hvitserk or Ivar as well. Whatever it would be, she could mend. Even the anger she'd felt over Margrethe had dulled into an emotion she could ignore, that she could push away whenever she saw him. "What would you do if we met on the battlefield?"

"We won't." Ubbe brought his sword down and there was a satisfying clang when Dagny was fast enough to match him.

"But if we did?" she said, chest heaving with exertion. She moved back, grateful to be released from the hold, and threw her sword away. Ubbe grinned, another smile that Dagny savored because it was like that of a dragon spotting more gold for its trove.

"I would give you a head-start," he replied, tossing his blade into the brush. When he reached her, she laughed.

Dagny often did not comprehend the dark thought of war, of blood and dirt smeared across men, of limbs severed and weapons lost. Her only experience with it was that day in the market, the moment she killed the silver-haired shieldmaiden and attempted to kill Astrid, and that had blurred into a faded memory. She had the presence of mind to know that she was not ready for it and that she should not scoff at Ubbe's wanting her to be an archer sequestered in the trees. But when she sparred, she did feel prepared for it, despite the activity always seeming to make her laugh.

"Do you think I am ready to go to England?" she asked. She had a hand ready to tug Ubbe's braid, even though he'd often told her that that wasn't fighting fairly. Her other was braced against his chest, pushing hard. Ubbe's fingers were digging into her left shoulder, a place he knew was her weakest after her still-healing leg.

"That is not up to me," he responded.

"Then you don't think I'm ready." Dagny bared her teeth and pulled at his braid. Ubbe spun and she kicked at the back of his knees. When he was on the ground, she walked in front of him, finally triumphant.

"There is no honor in fighting like that," he said before getting up and brushing himself off. Dagny rolled her eyes.

"It's the only way I can win against you."

"You think very little of yourself, if you believe that to be true." Part of Dagny had wanted her to spurn him at the very mention of marrying Margrethe, to decline his kindness and his comradery and his overwhelming good will. But it was a stupid, foolish part that she elected to ignore. "And it is not that I do not think you prepared. But being in battle is far different from practice and many of these warriors have been training since they were children. I have helped you for a handful of months."

"I know," she muttered. This was nothing that she had not said to herself many times over.

"But one day, you will be my equal." Dagny nodded and did not say what she thought, what she told herself in the middle of the night. That, in her heart, she did not want to be on par with the other warriors. Deep down, she longed to best them.

"Yes, one day, I will beat you fairly. But it is not today." She came around and tugged at his braid again. Ubbe chuckled and tackled her to the ground. Dagny tried her usual method of attempting to wrap her leg about his waist and shift her weight so that she could thrust him backwards and end up on top for what would be a killing blow. Ubbe told her this was effective and it was a move that most shieldmaidens mastered early. But her bad leg had yet to manage to hold her weight effectively or successfully maneuver around Ubbe's torso. At this point, Dagny doubted her ever being able to perform it.

Ubbe's arm came across her chest and pinned her to the ground, her left leg just barely beginning to come over his hips. For a moment, Dagny watched his clear eyes. Sometimes, he would look in the direction he intended to move. Sometimes, she just wanted to meet his gaze. Today his eyes dropped to her lips, which were pursed and about to turn into a snarl. And if he wasn't to be married in a few days time, if Hvitserk was not expecting something from her, if Ivar would let her tell him of this grave mistake, she would kiss him. Just once. For a last time. In the stories and sagas, they would get this moment of goodbye, of acknowledgement. And didn't she deserve it?

No, she didn't. Dagny herself had bought the shovel and the plot of land and had been digging this traitor's grave with no remorse for far too long. She was a shieldmaiden now and she would get a ship burial, a funeral pyre. Ubbe would get a longship, filled with luxury and riches, furs and gold and silver and the greatest weapons he had used in battle, lit on fire and sent to sea. Dagny hoped she never saw it.

There was the familiar sound of Ivar, crawling among the leaves of the path to the meadow. She wondered how long he'd been there, how long she had been locked in battle with Ubbe. She caught a glimpse of Ivar's dark hair and braced a forearm against Ubbe's chest, too fast for him block, and gave a good shove. She knew she could not manage that normally but he fell off of her anyway, out of breath for reasons Dagny pretended not to understand.

"You're getting better," Ubbe said. He was standing now, pouring himself some ale. Dagny was still on the ground, chest heaving. "We will practice that until you get it. Tomorrow."

"Oh, don't stop on my account," Ivar said, his voice a drawl like honey. Dagny turned her gaze upon him, with his dark hair growing long and his wide eyes. He was no fool, prone to naiveté. Some part of her assumed he knew and just didn't want to acknowledge it, which is why he stopped her anytime she tried to speak the truth.

"Ubbe has to plan his wedding and get to the tailor's," she teased in a singsong voice, to lighten the mood. Ubbe flung the contents of his cup towards her, enough to splatter her tunic.

"When you get married, I will remember this," he replied, pointing at her. She grinned. "And you laugh now but it could be sooner than you think." Dagny felt suddenly cold, remembering her conversation with Margrethe and how the girl seemed to expect Hvitserk to be married next. She did not care if that was Margrethe's way of joking. It had snuck its way beneath her skin.

"I'll train with you, while Ubbe takes care of _mundane_ things," Ivar said. Ubbe nodded, a skeptical expression on his face, as if unsure whether Ivar wanted to speak ill of him. Dagny nodded as well, though she doubted it would ever turn into training.

"I look forward to it," she replied. Ivar's full lips split into a wicked grin, the sort of smile that implied he'd already found your worth and knew it to be lacking. Dagny did not mind being on the other end of the smirk because it promised things she knew she would enjoy.

Ubbe gave her a nod before heading back to town and her head suddenly swam with the thoughts she had been ignoring. _This is a grave mistake_ , she wanted to call after him, even if he would not listen. _You will regret this._

"You think he is a fool for wanting to marry Margrethe," Ivar said, reaching her side. He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at her. She looked back at him, fingers curling into a fist in the dirt beside her.

Dagny sighed, a dejected sound because she had come to terms with it. "Perhaps he is not a fool so much as blinded by his feelings for her." Ubbe said that often enough, that love habitually covered your eyes so that you did not see the faults of someone else. He was speaking of her with Ivar but Dagny thought it applied more to himself. "I have tried to tell him that marrying Margrethe will bring him misfortune but my advice falls upon deaf ears."

"Have you seen it?" he asked, voice grim. Dagny had come to realize that Ivar truly believed her to be something of a seer, something of a witch. Her dream of Ragnar's death had been correct and since coming home, Ivar put a great deal of stock into the things Dagny had to say.

"I don't have to see that to know it will be true."

Ivar gave a dry laugh. "And here I thought that you were putting the differences between you and Margrethe aside."

"We're not all that different," Dagny murmured, guilt again wanting to eat its way through her. She should not think this of Margrethe. She should want her and Ubbe to be happy, just like everybody else.

"So you _do_ want to be friends with her, despite thinking she is ambitious and cunning and using Ubbe to rise above her station." Dagny had never admitted that those were her explicit thoughts to Ivar, which just meant that he had picked up on the same things she had. Maybe she was not being ludicrous after all.

"I know they weren't truly my friends but losing Dotta and Asdis has been… difficult for me," Dagny said, voice low. She knew that, once freed, she would have been separated from them by necessity anyway but knowing they were dead made it worse. Feeling responsible for Asdis's killing was a sort of guilt that she doubted would ever be surpassed.

"You shouldn't grieve anyone who treated you in the manner that they did," Ivar responded callously.

"I know," she said, even if she didn't believe it to be true. Asdis always wanted to argue and Dotta just wanted to follow along but despite any flaws they might have had, Dagny did not feel that they had ever treated her poorly. "I just miss speaking with another woman. And I know that it's what Ubbe wants."

"You don't owe him anything, Dagny." Ivar's eyes brightened, these words apparently some he had been longing to say. "Slaves are freed all the time and from what it sounds like, you more than earned it. I doubt Margrethe is thinking of how she can repay my brother for doing something that makes complete sense."

But still, Ubbe had been the one to free Dagny. It was a bond that tied them together more strongly than anything else that had passed between them, friendship or lust or partner in battle. Sigurd would not have done it, even though she had stood by his family at great personal risk. Much of the time, she didn't believe Ivar would have freed her. She often wondered whether he agreed with Ubbe's decision at all.

"I don't expect you to understand it," she said. But surely even Margrethe, who used every advantage she had, no matter how small, could see the gravity of what Ubbe had done for her. Something that perhaps no one else in the royal household or Lagertha's mummer's court would have even thought to do.

"Oh but I do understand it." Ivar tucked his chin to his chest and met her gaze with his disarming blue eyes. It was the expression of a fox disguising itself as a rabbit because Ivar, even hurt and sensitive, could never accurately appear innocent. "He was the first to treat you as a free woman and not a slave. He was the first to treat me as a person and not a cripple, not someone to be coddled and hidden away." Dagny was aware of how true this was, of how many responsibilities Ubbe had taken on while still a child. He sometimes still watched Ivar, like he was afraid that he was in danger of breaking a bone. But Ubbe had never denied him anything and had always tried to include him, even in activities that Ivar couldn't perform.

"And you don't feel that you owe him? That you should warn him away from a doomed marriage?"

"Why should I feel like he needs to be repaid for being a decent person?" Ivar asked. "He acts the way everyone should act. It's not something we have to applaud him for. And as for Margrethe, he chose that path long ago."

"You don't care that she could be manipulating him." Dagny thought Margrethe did love Ubbe. It was impossible not to like him and she'd cared for him when there was no hope of being freed. But it did not change what Dagny had always thought of her.

"No, I don't." Ivar, still propped up by his elbows, had a monstrous gleam in his eyes. "I want him to be married. Then he can stop stealing you away." Dagny smiled, even as she felt sure that he knew the things that had passed between her and Ubbe, that if Ubbe married Margrethe, he could find it in himself not to care about the past.

"Ivar, there is something I should speak with you about." She did not sound nervous. The words did not run together, becoming something unintelligible. She'd practiced what to say to Ivar and Hvitserk since the morning she asked Ubbe for his help. It had been a mistake for her personally, deep down, but she could make it sound like it wasn't one. Dagny was not a skilled liar but she believed this to be true. "It is about Ubbe and-"

"And where he will stand after we kill Lagertha?" Ivar's expression was one of practiced neutrality.

"Yes," she said, skeptical. This was not where she had been going and Ivar knew it. She could tell that in the set of his jaw. But if he did not want to speak of it, she wouldn't either. This was the last time Dagny would ever try to bring it up. Her skin prickled, like a chill was in the air, but this was a regular feeling she got when looking at Ivar so she ignored it. "And what of Bjorn?"

Ivar, Ubbe, and Dagny had come to an agreement to oust Lagertha when they were welcoming new raiders to the great army at a banquet tomorrow night. They had to wait until new men came as, otherwise, they were just a coalition of three. Not a word had been breathed to Sigurd, who bore Lagertha no ill will because he had always hated Aslaug. Dagny still did not consider it a well-thought out plan because there had been no mention of who would succeed Lagertha on the throne of Kattegat or whether that might affect the avenging of Ragnar's death. Ubbe was eldest and noble and understanding. He had the makings of a good ruler. But there was often a fire in Ivar's eyes that Dagny could not put down to sheer revenge.

"What about Bjorn?" Ivar said with a scoff. He thought little of the eldest Ragnarsson and indeed, often did not consider him a true brother. Lagertha's blood tainted him. Though an excellent warrior, he did not have Ivar's wit or Ragnar's outstanding charm.

"We are angry about what happened to your mother. It stands to reason that he would be angry about the death of his own." Dagny did not mention that Hvitserk bore Bjorn a great deal of love and respect, that even as the mildest, he still had limits.

"We will worry about that when the time comes." Ivar looked away and stared at the line of trees some distance from them. Dagny wondered if he saw himself upon the throne, wearing a crown of iron like the English. "Ubbe has mentioned nothing of this to you? Nothing of his own ambitions or desires?"

"No," Dagny admitted. "We rarely talk about things like that."

"Then what do you and Ubbe speak of," he asked, sly, "alone out here among the flowers and trees?"

She pretended to ponder this and rolled onto her stomach beside him, propping her chin up with her fingers. "Sometimes I recite the odes I am composing about your eyes like the sea and your mind as sharp as a fire-forged blade and the flowers I wish to weave into your hair." Dagny reached with her free hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He laughed, not a cackle of malice or cruelty, but a sound like a lark among the trees, something she thought he might have reserved for Aslaug's ears alone.

"I would like to see you try to put flowers in my hair."

"Oh, a challenge!" Dagny tilted her head, mischievous. "One I am most certainly up to."

Ivar smiled and for once, it did not make her think of stormy fjords or shipwrecks. For a moment, all she saw was honey. He turned and put a hand on her waist, fingers beginning to creep down her thigh and onto her calf.

"I will kill Lagertha for what she did to you, Dagny," he murmured, leaning so close that they were almost kissing. His grip tightened on her leg. "And I will do it slowly, so that she suffers."

Dagny knew it was cruel but she was glad of someone promising her that. She did not care about the words that were unspoken; the empty throne would have to be occupied by someone and why should that someone not be the cleverest of the princes? But Ivar was young and in the same way that Dagny was not ready for war, he was not ready for a throne.

His fingers found the back of her knee and he tugged her leg over his hip. Dagny's heart pounded, her stomach turned to stone. She thought of the move she had been practicing, that this was the perfect position from which to perform it. Instead, she let her fingers cup his jaw and pressed her lips to his. Ivar was not gentle and probably never would be. Dagny did not mind it.

His hand came back up her thigh, onto her waist. He felt along her side and then pulled her leather breastplate free. Dagny dug her fingers into his shoulder.

"Dagny," he said, moving so that he could bury his face in the nape of her neck. His hand was still gripping the fabric of her green tunic, like he wanted to pull that off as well. _Do it,_ she thought. _Please._

"Yes," she murmured, her fingers coming to the base of his neck, twining in his hair.

"There is something I need you to do for me," he said. He pulled back and the heady look on his face had part of Dagny wanting to promise him anything; that she would kill his rivals, that she would craft him a crown of gold and jewels, that she would do anything he wanted if she could have him just once.

"What is it?" she asked. Ivar's hand cupped her face, fingers tangling in her hair.

"When Hvitserk returns home," he said, voice husky but eyes clear, "I want you to give him up."

Dagny was suddenly sober, abruptly aware of the way Ivar's hip was digging into her inner thigh, of the bruise that was beginning to well on her throat from his teeth, of how she'd tugged his shirt away from his upper chest.

"What?" she questioned. She made herself keep smiling, like it might be some kind of joke. But Ivar still said things in a tone that Dagny was beginning to balk at, something that brooked no dissent. A command. And perhaps, it wasn't an order from master to slave but one from military leader to warrior. Still, it poisoned something Dagny was already considering doing and made her stubbornly want to go against it.

"Do you love him, Dagny?" Ivar asked, as if that would ever make a difference in his decision. His fingers were creeping beneath the edge of her tunic but his expression was soft. He was suddenly doe-eyed, appearing excessively young. She sensed that this was a game, a test of will and strength, and he was positioning himself to win.

"No," she admitted, feeling like she should have lied. Maybe she didn't love Hvitserk now but she could not ignore what may come to pass in the future. Indeed, she could not disregard what had happened in the past. Maybe she had never explicitly promised him anything but Dagny could not blame Hvitserk for expecting something of her. She was young and the princes were young and no one should need oaths now. In fact, hadn't she been told by every single one of them that vows such as that did not matter? That sharing was something Vikings did? No, she realized. Ivar had never said a thing like that to her and she had not once considered his opinion. Dagny's stubbornness melted away.

"And what of marrying him?" His fingers found skin. Dagny wondered at how obvious it was that this was all it took to get a positive answer from her.

"I am not a child, who thinks of marrying for love," she responded. "But I will not marry at all until I am older and wiser. Who am I to stay what the gods might have in store for me?"

Ivar smiled, baring his teeth like a crescent moon. It was at odds with the calculated innocuous look on his face, as if he had mastered the perfect combination of sweet and sinister. "They have you in store for me. That is my fate."

"I will make a deal with you, Ivar." He raised his eyebrows and his fingers moved up her back. Dagny tried to ignore how her skin prickled beneath his touch. "Because the things you say are true and I know that I want you above all others." He gripped her shoulder blade, his features relaxing into the happiness that comes from getting exactly what you wanted. "But I would be doing Hvitserk a dishonor that he does not deserve. I would be denying years of history between us."

Ivar smirked. "Then what is your deal?"

"I want him three times, each at a moment of my choosing." Three seemed a good number. It was always used in the stories for deals with witches or monsters or gods. Ivar sometimes had qualities of all three. Even now, he was grinning, abandoning all pretext of the least amount of pleasantness.

"Only three?" he asked and pulled his hand from beneath her tunic.

"Only three," she murmured. He leaned back into the grass, away from her, and laughed. This was a sound she imagined most in the sagas heard when they made a deal that would not prove as fortuitous as they thought.

"You are so astute, Dagny. Each time I think I can trick you, you prove me wrong." There was enough respect in his tone that she, still starved of validation, felt she had made the right decision.

"And so this was a trick?"

"No." He was abruptly vulnerable, strangely embarrassed. "It should not matter to me but it does."

Dagny turned and laid on her back beside him. "I understand." Was this not her entire reason for initially disliking Margrethe? Frankly, she understood his reasoning completely. But it did not make it any easier to deal with. "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing for more than being insensitive, for more than complicated feelings.

He grinned and Dagny knew the conversation was over, at least for the moment. "Show me what new skill you are trying to master."

* * *

Margrethe touched her goblet to Dagny's and they each took a drink. Dagny was going to need it for this night. The great hall was crowded. They were surrounded by visiting raiders and she'd heard many of them mention Ragnar with love. She wondered where they'd been when the old king had needed decent warriors for his final journey.

Margrethe had part of her hair pulled back from her face so it was easy to see the way she stared at Lagertha. Dagny thought of asking her why she hated the new queen so much when Margrethe had never cared for Aslaug. But she remembered Lagertha offering her freedom and sentencing Margrethe to work in the mud once she'd served her purpose. The enmity between the two of them was just beginning to disappear and Dagny had no desire to see that foiled.

"She's not a good queen," Margrethe said. Dagny only nodded, taking another drink and looking around. Lagertha was upon the dais, receiving tokens from the visiting raiders. "She does not deserve gifts."

"She's a usurper," Dagny agreed, "and she will get what she is owed."

If she'd let Aslaug walk away or even killed her with the dignity typically afforded a queen, Dagny would forgive her. But Lagertha's plan had always been betrayal. It was always intended to be passion.

Across the hall, Ubbe was talking to a group of warriors. He caught Dagny's eye and smiled. She guessed they would help take care of Lagertha's shieldmaidens. The crowd parted and she could see that Ivar had arrived, intentionally late. He looked brilliant to Dagny's eyes but the other raiders were laughing. Her grip tightened around her cup until she saw Ubbe successfully take care of it.

She turned back to Margrethe, to keep her included in conversation if not the plan, and the girl wasn't there. Instead, there was Sigurd, predictably looking at Dagny like he could see straight through her. She felt a thrill that in a few moments she could be putting him in his place. But Sigurd typically thought he was doing what was right. He just did everything possible to make it difficult to be his friend.

"Has it been a rough few days for you, Dagny?" he asked, moving to stand beside her.

"Why don't you play me a song, Sigurd, and we can forego your pretending to care," she responded. Sigurd actually chuckled, pouring himself some ale.

"Do you think me so mean?"

"I think you go out of your way to be callous when it would cost you nothing to be kind." He gave a low whistle.

"Then what must you think of Ivar?" Dagny shifted and knocked his full goblet onto the ground. Watching the ale sink into the floorboards and seeing the shock on his features gave Dagny a sublime pleasure. "You are so petty. All I have done is tell you the truth."

"There are ways to be honest without cruelty. I am just treating you in kind."

"Have you been giving much thought to the future?" Dagny stubbornly did not meet his eyes. She kept her gaze on the queen, now wandering among the new raiders and speaking to Ubbe. The doors to the great hall had yet to shut, which was the signal they were waiting for. Dagny kept her fingers near the axe in her belt.

"No more than you have, I'm sure," she replied. Sigurd laughed again.

"Oh, I have been thinking of it a great deal." There was something malicious in the tone so she did turn to look at him.

"You loved Margrethe?" At this, he shrugged. Dagny thought about asking what everyone saw in her. "Well, I think you have been given the greater lot in life. Ubbe will regret marrying her."

"How do you know that?"

"I just have a feeling," she murmured. Sigurd scoffed.

"I have had that same feeling. It's envy."

Dagny wanted to bite back and say she'd wasted the ale by tossing it on the floor. It should have gone down his front. But Lagertha was back upon the dais and the doors to the great hall closed.

She drew the axe and wrapped an arm around Sigurd's chest. The blade rested upon his throat. He struggled and might have even managed to get away but when the axe drew blood, he stopped.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Shut up, Sigurd," she replied, mouth to his ear. The new raiders had done the same, targeting shieldmaidens and those loyal to Lagertha in the hall. The crowds parted to reveal Ubbe and Ivar in the center of the floor.

Lagertha rose, face solemn and picked up a sword. It would be useless against two warriors of the princes' skill but Lagertha was still regarded as the greatest shieldmaiden to have ever lived. She would put up a good fight.

She walked down to the floor regally and Dagny was forced to admit to herself that she respected her. Were she to go to her death in this manner, with it staring her in the eyes, she did not know that she could be so brave. But the queen was not rattled. In fact, she seemed to have expected this to be coming.

Ubbe readied an axe and came around behind Lagertha, with Ivar eager with a blade at her feet. She could match either of them alone but together, Dagny doubted she stood much of a chance. Ubbe would never attack from behind but he'd give her the impression that he would. And Ivar… Ivar would do anything. He did not hear the rules of honor or useless codes of nobility. He would knock her to the floor and kill her. It would not be pretty or proper but it would be done.

Dagny thought for a singular moment of the silver-haired shieldmaiden who had murdered Asdis. Her grip on Sigurd's chest tightened.

The doors to the great hall came open. Not at all part of the plan. Dagny and Sigurd turned at the same time to see Bjorn Ironside accompanied by a large force of raiders. There was no way to describe the plummeting feeling in her stomach. Sigurd just reached up and took her hand off his shoulder. It was what was happening to most people around them, others immediately conceding to Bjorn without any kind of defiance. Dagny wanted to scream. But all she heard was Sigurd's ironic laughter and Bjorn's harsh commands.

 **Yeah, not a lot happened but I am taking this New Year's Resolution seriously! Lol. But next chapter, even if I have to make it 10,000 words, I think they might head to England! So exciting. Also this season was wild. What did y'all think of it?**


	15. Chapter 15

**There's legitimately no good excuse for this but writer's block and total lack of inspiration. I've kinda been depressed lately and I'm STILL looking for a job so that's taken up a lot of my time. So forgive me! Anyway, I hope you like this update. This chapter was such a struggle for me that it is probably still rough around the edges. But thanks for all the comments and good vibes! Hope y'all are doing great.**

The looking glass was small and had rough edges, probably cut from a much larger piece. It was showing a milky reflection of the night sky, a melting sliver of moon, a barrage of stars. Dagny tilted it just a bit in her palm and saw her face.

She pocketed the looking glass. It fit perfectly in a pouch on her belt, nestled beside the chess piece Ivar had received from a Saxon prince. Hvitserk said that in Spain, there were whole rooms of mirrors, most of much finer quality than any in Kattegat. They were rare, hard to make, extremely expensive, and this small piece might have fetched a good sum in the market but Hvitserk had given it to her instead.

He'd also given her a fruit. It was orange, thick-skinned, and designed to be eaten in perfect segments. Days had passed and Dagny was still thinking of how good it was.

She finally sat down and leaned against the base of a tree. It was the middle of the night and when she couldn't sleep, her feet led her to the meadow in the forest. Normally it was reserved for training but now, it was peaceful. It was a good time to gather her thoughts, to try to make the correct decisions, which might be impossible to do.

Hvitserk had been waiting at the cabin after the failed attempt on Lagertha's life. His presence immediately lightened Dagny's mood, especially when he did not seem fazed by her newfound freedom. Though the months he had been gone had changed Kattegat, had changed Dagny, Hvitserk was entirely the same. He was lighthearted and genuine and the darkness of Aslaug and Ragnar's deaths did not cast its pallor on him. Dagny found this incredibly refreshing. He was not in the depths of a grief fueled by revenge, such as Ivar, and nor was he some mentor telling Dagny life advice that she most certainly should heed, like Ubbe or Sigurd.

This was why Dagny had always liked Hvitserk, even as a child. There was no pressure. There was no judgment. Frankly, it seemed like nothing affected him at all.

But the day after he returned, he sat beside her at dinner and halfway through the meal, his hand came to rest on her thigh. Dagny felt Ivar's eyes on her, she saw Margrethe stare over the rim of her goblet, as if the both of them could see beneath the table. Hvitserk either didn't notice or didn't care, the latter being the most likely.

So Dagny, who had wanted at least one full day before having an awkward conversation, had to plan how to begin one. She had become skilled in practicing speeches she didn't want to deliver but the mirror in her belt seemed incredibly heavy. He would have given that to her as a slave. And his acceptance of her freedom made Dagny think he must have been considering giving it to her himself. Not for the first time, she regretted being so foolhardy as to immediately concede to Ivar, even if his reasoning did make perfect sense.

After dinner, Hvitserk had asked her on a walk. She agreed. Ubbe nudged her once Hvitserk had his back turned, grinning. It made Dagny actually blush and she elbowed him back. Ubbe laughed but she genuinely thought he was happy for her. He was a better friend than she deserved.

They were barely out of town when Hvitserk kissed her. This was a weakness of Dagny's and she had found it was a particular weakness where Hvitserk was concerned. He had her pushed against a tree before she found the will power to tell him to wait.

Hvitserk leaned back and the light of the moon made him look like the side of a coin, bearing the likeness of an ancient king. His hands, rough and long-fingered, took her own.

"Shall I make you promises?" he'd asked, swarthy in a strange way that jumped between joking and sincere.

"I fear that I have made a promise of my own," she'd replied and Hvitserk's expression fell. Dagny felt her heart fall with it, an odd sinking sensation that almost made her sick.

"To Ivar?"

She nodded. "He asked me to give you up."

"He has no right to tell you what to do, Dagny." Hvitserk dropped her hands to let his own frame her waist. There was a curve to his mouth that she couldn't rightly call a smile. "You are free now," he murmured, leaning into her. "And you can do as you please."

Dagny had wanted to throw her head back and let him kiss her because even if it wasn't love, it was something worth understanding. Perhaps it was just lingering feelings from her childhood, when she'd believed Hvitserk capable of hanging stars in the sky. Perhaps it was just that they'd always gotten along. But she had made her deal with Ivar and it was something she could not go back on.

"I truly care for him, Hvitserk," she'd whispered and it seemed the wrong thing to say. The edge of the forest stilled and his fingers caught in the fabric of her dress. Dagny, for all her normal qualities of being cautious and contemplative, felt impulse want to pull her under. It had won many battles over her sense in the past and she wouldn't let it rule her again.

"Dagny," he'd begun, so unwaveringly serious that it actually put her on edge, "you know what he is like. I'm sure Sigurd has told you what happened with Margrethe."

She'd sighed, beleaguered. "Only a hundred times over." Hvitserk's eyes had gleamed but he never laughed.

"What about marriage? Have you pledged yourself to marry him?"

"No, nothing like that." If Dagny had to hear one more word about marriage, she thought she might go mad.

"Then what does it matter what we do out here?" His grip on her waist had tightened.

"It matters because of loyalty and because you are too easy to like." It was Hvitserk's defining quality, likability, and Dagny feared what it might eventually morph into. Now that she had a made a firm decision, she had no intention of ever finding out.

He'd grinned, lazy and lovely, and it made Dagny's arms want to loop around his neck. "Wait until after the raid and then make your choice."

That had never occurred to her. It was such a simple and easy solution, such a masterful way of skirting an issue, that only Hvitserk could have come up with it. It was a thought that Dagny had returned to many times over the past few days. But an oath was an oath and she'd all but sworn one to Ivar.

The rest of it appeared to slide off of Hvitserk easily, either because he did not care that she had feelings for Ivar or because he believed things would eventually turn in his favor. In fact, he'd laughed about it, smirked, and said conspiratorially, "Only three times? I am worth at least twenty."

He had taken it far better than Dagny might have thought but then, this was how Hvitserk was. Even if it wasn't what he wanted, she doubted he'd ever say as much to her. He was ridiculously accommodating and clearly thought of this all as a competition he might still win. Dagny did not want to rule him out. It was one of the best things about him. Hvitserk cared little about truly winning. He just enjoyed playing the game.

But then yesterday had happened. Dagny and Sigurd did most of the talking at meals, now that Margrethe had moved into the household and Hvitserk had returned. There was an awkwardness between everyone there, except Dagny and Sigurd, who were generally honest about their feelings on one another. Driving a conversation was new to both of them but it was better than silence or descending into a petty fight between Sigurd and Ivar.

"So Dagny somehow managed to best me three times today," Sigurd had begun. Dagny had smiled in response, pride evident in the set of her shoulders and her sudden perfect posture. Sigurd gave out praise on incredibly rare occasions, none of them in front of his brothers or Margrethe, and Dagny wanted to bask in it.

"Really?" Ubbe asked, looking up from his plate in disbelief, more at Sigurd admitting it publically than at Dagny's being able to achieve it.

"Yes, I did," she'd replied.

"Of course, you did," Ivar said beside her. This was a position he rarely relinquished. "I could blindfold you and you would still beat him." Dagny gave him a mischievous look. For some reason, he thought her a fine warrior, when she was rougher than the crew that had taken him to England.

Sigurd had rolled his eyes in signature dramatic fashion. "At least I won't have to constantly keep a watch on her while we are in England."

"England?" Hvitserk had paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "You're not going to England."

Dagny laughed. "Of course, I'm going. Why do you think I've been practicing?"

"Dagny, I have been training for this my entire life. You have trained for a few months with Ubbe." He gestured at his older brother, as if that summed up the entire argument.

"I'm trying not to take offense at that," Ubbe replied dryly.

Dagny grinned but was still quite baffled. Hvitserk knew that she was training. This was something she figured he must have automatically picked up on, as Ivar had. She even thought he might encourage it, based on things he'd said in the past. But perhaps, it wasn't the training itself that bothered him.

"I appreciate your concern for my life but I will be fine!" Dagny did not miss Ivar's sly smile that he tried to hide behind a goblet. He was getting precisely what he wanted; Hvitserk and Dagny on opposing sides.

"Bjorn will only want seasoned warriors," Hvitserk said.

Ivar had leaned onto the table lazily. Margrethe subconsciously flinched across from him. "And what does Bjorn's opinion matter?"

Hvitserk scoffed. "He is the leader of the great army."

"Is he?" Ivar had asked in a deliberately skeptical tone.

"You think you should be the leader?" Ubbe questioned and it was clear to Dagny that he believed that to be a foolish dream.

Ivar shrugged. "Our father took me to England instead of the rest of you, instead of Bjorn. It is obvious that he wanted me in command. And I think Dagny is ready for it."

This had begun a ceaseless amount of arguing, the main thing that Dagny had been trying to avoid and she wound up standing before Bjorn anyway. The eldest Ragnarsson was at least twice her size and perhaps a head or two taller. As a slave, she'd been scared of him and under the scrutiny of his gaze, she remembered that old fear. She'd been part of a conspiracy to kill his mother. The blood that tied him to Ivar and Ubbe was not present in Dagny. But he did not seem to care.

Bjorn had only looked her up and down twice, as if he could adequately judge her strength or muscle mass in that amount of time. She could tell the whole thing disinterested him. After all, what commander knew all of their warriors by name? What leader let each soldier individually into his army?

He'd asked her if she had experience amputating limbs. Of course, she had. Dagny had seen more blood and bone than most anyone. That was good enough reason for Bjorn Ironside to let her onto a ship.

"We always need a healer," he'd said and it was in a respectful enough tone that Dagny assumed he thought she was quite good at it.

So she would be going to England. Maybe she was more nervous than she thought because she could not sleep. And it had not done her much good to walk into the forest, be alone with her thoughts. It felt more like an ending than the beginning that it was. Dagny sensed that when she left to avenge Ragnar's death that it would be a great deal of time before she returned to her favorite meadow. Maybe she would not return at all.

Leaves crunched along the path and Dagny grabbed the axe at her waist. But it was only Ubbe, apparently on a moonlight walk of his own. Tomorrow was his wedding day. It was no wonder that he could not sleep.

"Dagny?" he murmured, brow furrowed. She was surprised he could make her silhouette out in the dark.

"Yes," she said, standing and brushing herself off. "You cannot sleep either?"

He shook his head in a vaguely self-deprecating manner. "I don't suppose you are awake for the same reason I am."

Dagny took a good, long at him. Ubbe was rarely this way, dark circles under his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching. She knew enough about stress and nerves to recognize it. "Are you having second thoughts about tomorrow, Ubbe?"

He shrugged once he was close enough to her. The moonlight seemed to crack across his fine features. "You don't think marrying Margrethe is a good idea. Why?"

"It's quite a time to finally ask my opinion." Ubbe appeared cowed by that, even looked a tiny bit smaller. "What does it matter now? The wedding is tomorrow evening. I have weaved Margrethe the most beautiful flower crown that I possibly could. And I need the excuse to drink."

She was only half-kidding but it got the intended reaction because he smiled, on the verge of laughter, and it was lovely. "Don't tell me that you now support this."

"I don't," Dagny replied with a grin, "but it's a bit late for me to tell you not to go through with it."

"You could still tell me." He must have been drinking. It would explain some of his manner, his stance, the oddly harrowed look in his clear eyes, the way he was now leaning against a tree beside her.

"Don't go through with it," she murmured, because she hoped he was drunk enough to forget the entire exchange come morning. He gave her a weak smile, something that paled against Ubbe's usual personality.

"You have gotten in my head," he replied. Dagny sighed.

"You've been drinking and you're not thinking clearly, Ubbe." His eyebrows came together in confusion. "Yes, you are not very clever at hiding it."

"It changes nothing."

"Yes, it does. I don't know Margrethe, not truly. Everything I think about her has evolved out of jealousy. But I know you and I know you love her." Ubbe appeared to ponder this and eventually nodded.

"And what of you?" Dagny's skin prickled but there was no chill in the nighttime air.

"What about me?"

"Why are you awake?" She supposed there was no reason to keep it secret so she told him everything, about Ivar wanting her to turn Hvitserk down, in particular. Through all of this, Ubbe only nodded but she could tell he was paying attention. Worse, she could see that he was disappointed, whether for her or for Hvitserk, she did not know.

"And what are Hvitserk's thoughts on the matter?" Ubbe said, arms crossed, still leaning against a tree. Even apparently drunk, he showed no judgment.

"Frankly, he's treated it like he believes it to be a joke," she replied. He nodded in a knowing way. Hvitserk was generally predictable, especially to Ubbe.

"Well, can you fault him that? It certainly sounds like one." Dagny pursed her lips and mirrored him, leaning against another tree at the edge of the meadow.

"You don't think I'm serious?"

"Oh, I believe that you are serious," he conceded, leaning forward a bit unsteadily. "And I can certainly believe that Ivar would ask it of you. I just think it is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous how?"

Ubbe sighed and geared himself up for what Dagny knew would be an excellent persuasive speech, even if he was drunk. "Since we were children, there has been something between you and Hvitserk that is unexplainable. Maybe it is not love now but who is to say what it might become? Marriages have been built on less than what the two of you have. You know each other intimately. There is something to be said for that. And in all honesty, Ivar has no right to control it."

"You would have me laugh off his concerns the way others laughed off what I thought of Margrethe?" The skin around Ubbe's eyes softened, minutely enough that Dagny knew she'd been staring at him. "We are the same in that regard, he and I. It may come to be the wrong decision for me but it's the right thing to do."

"Do you think that if your places were switched, he would do you the same honor?" Ubbe seemed sober now because his gaze was intense and focused and Dagny could feel its burn even in the dark of the night. This was a question she did not care to find out the answer to. It drudged up fears she still felt at times; that Ivar cared little for her personally, that he just enjoyed the attention.

"Well, our places are not switched, thankfully." Ubbe steeled himself. It was a stance that he often got into before dealing a blow not easily recovered from.

"It is none of my business, Dagny, but have you ever told him what happened between us?" She stiffened.

"I have tried more times than I can count and he always manages to change the subject," she admitted.

He sighed again and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, possibly to stave off a headache, possibly to contemplate how idiotic they had both become. "Which means he knows and he's sparing you. It might also explain his reaction to Hvitserk."

"Ubbe, I am so sorry. For dragging you into something of this manner, for asking you to do this in the first place. It has brought us nothing." This was a lie. It had brought Dagny far more than she'd asked for, good and ill.

Ubbe's starry eyes flashed in the dark. "I don't believe that's quite true. And as I've told you before, you did not hold a knife to my throat. You did not force me to do anything. Whatever else comes of it, I have no regrets."

"Nor do I," Dagny said, mostly to keep herself from saying something she shouldn't. Of all the terrible things that Dagny sometimes saw or felt coming, she wished she could find answers to her own life.

"Once we go on raid, everyone will be so distracted that none of this pettiness and jealousy will mean anything." This was true and was a comfort to her, oddly enough.

"But Hvitserk doesn't want me there." She said it to be a joke but frankly, it did bother her. Hvitserk had mentioned to her more times than she could count things about her potentially being a warrior, a shieldmaiden. Now that it was to be true, he disapproved?

"He wants you to think about the mistake you're making." Ubbe arched a brow suggestively and Dagny shook her head at him, grinning. "No but in all seriousness, he does not think you have the stomach for war. I tend to agree with him."

"Well, I can't say that I expect to enjoy it but I should think that I certainly have the stomach for the blood and gore. I've dealt with that my entire life." Ubbe shrugged, still leaning against a tree.

"I doubt he thinks you're a coward. There are some things that he probably doesn't want you to see." Dagny wondered what those things might be. Indeed, for the first time, she began to question just what she was getting herself into. Would the raid end at avenging Ragnar's death? That, in itself, precluded killing two kings. Would she see a side to the brothers she had never imagined? Worse, would she see a side of herself she should be ashamed of?

"You are so pensive, Dagny," Ubbe said, tilting his head to the side.

"Things are changing so it seems all I do is ponder the outcome." He smiled, slow and lazy, reminding her of Hvitserk. At the thought of his name, her stomach felt like it was turning into knots. Dagny knew it was the right thing to do. It was what she had said to herself every day since she'd agreed to it. But it did not make it easy.

"Yes, many things are changing. Dagny the healer is made a shieldmaiden. And I am made a married man." He cast his gaze upwards, as if the constellations in the sky might answer his questions.

"And you will have many children and a large home and a wife who loves you. I am happy you'll be getting what you've wanted." She found that she genuinely meant the words, regardless of her remaining skepticism of Margrethe.

Ubbe cut his eyes back to her. "And will you get those things, Dagny? Do you think Ivar can provide them for you?"

"Don't say anything you will regret come morning, Ubbe," she warned but he would never regret poisoning her to Ivar. He thought them as different as the sun and moon.

"Then I should not be speaking with you at all," he murmured. Dagny smiled weakly because she was familiar with the feeling.

* * *

Ubbe's wedding to Margrethe was lovely. Dagny had to admit it. The sky was clear and there was a bough of white and the two of them grinned like there would be no more cares in the world after this day. Although she thought that in the end, this would be a poor union, even Dagny was happy for them.

She'd been involved with getting Margrethe ready for the ceremony. Hemming her gown, tying her into the dress, weaving the crown she wore.

Ivar thought this was a waste of Dagny's precious time. Worse, he seemed to think that Margrethe was manipulating her because she needed a friend. It was true enough that she was smarter than most people credited her for but Margrethe had always seemed nice, if shy. Dagny was tired of thinking ill of her.

Hvitserk reached across her, letting his arm graze her in a way that was too deliberate to be an accident, and filled her glass. He lost the bridal race and now had to serve everyone for the meal. Dagny and Sigurd had been enjoying it the most.

Ivar stiffened beside her and Dagny gave Hvitserk a questioning look. He responded with a shrug and a grin, like they were sharing a joke. Normally, Dagny would have smiled back. But he moved on to doting on Margrethe next and his intentions with her were much the same. And Margrethe, though the woman just married, smiled and carried on with him as if Ubbe was not beside her. Dagny took a long drink of ceremonial wine.

Why did being right have to feel quite so awful?

"Are you a Christian now, Dagny?" Sigurd murmured on her other side, low enough that Ivar did not hear him. "One partner all your life seems the sort of boring idea a Christian would have."

"Do you always sense when I am in a good mood and seek to ruin it, Sigurd?" she replied, pulling meat off the bone with well-placed viciousness. He smiled at her. In his world, this sort of teasing might make them friends.

"I just think it is interesting to see someone ignore their cleverness in favor of a pair of blue eyes." He was drinking out of a goblet now, side-eyeing Dagny in a way that dared her to disagree with him. She glanced at Ivar, who was so consumed in his regular argument about control of the great army with Bjorn that he did not notice her. He was digging a knife into the table, twisting and twisting until the blade wore a small hole in the wood. Dagny imagined, for a moment, being in Bjorn's place, being on the other side of Ivar's anger. She'd known what it felt like for most of her life, in truth. But it was the sort of anger that hid how much he actually liked Dagny. There was no risk to her. She'd never once felt in danger from him. Why should that change?

"One day, Sigurd, the way you speak will put you in trouble that isn't easily gotten out of."

"Are you a witch, Dagny? Like our mother?" She turned back to him. His eyebrows were raised and he was trying hard not to smirk. She supposed they weren't really friends, after all. "If you are, I wouldn't let it be known to Lagertha."

To that, Dagny had no response. Despite his perpetual pestering, she was not in the mood to dress Sigurd down. She often thought they had more in common than initially believed and that it was why they seemed to come against each other so often. In fact, of all the princes, of all the old slaves, Dagny felt that Sigurd was the closest thing she had to a real sibling. There was too much spitefulness in their relationship to be friends and yet, too much sympathy to be enemies.

Hvitserk was still leaning across Margrethe, who was laughing like he was tickling her instead of just whispering something completely inappropriate in her ear. Ubbe was speaking to Torvi, Bjorn's wife, but his shoulders were so tense that it was impossible for him to not be noticing. Sigurd grabbed his goblet and tossed its contents over his shoulder. Dagny felt dots of liquid soak into the shoulder of her red gown.

"My glass is empty!" he said and it dragged Hvitserk out of the haze of Margrethe's spellbinding laughter. Dagny cut her eyes to Sigurd. He responded with the barest nod of his head. She wondered if he'd done it for her or for Ubbe. In the end, it didn't matter.

Ivar's hand came to rest on Dagny's thigh. He wanted to show off. There was an arrogance rolling off of him that Dagny had never seen before. Ivar was the rejected cripple, he was the cruel brother. People either pitied him or wished him dead. And rarely before Ragnar returned, had Ivar been given anything he truly wanted.

He cocked his head to the side. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm wondering how it feels to get everything you've wanted," she replied and covered his hand with her own.

"I don't have _everything_ I want." His free hand went to the back of her neck, the line of her gown. It was no different from what Ubbe and Margrethe were now doing, leaning into each other, kissing, but there was something to this touch that felt far more elicit than that.

"I know you will get the army," she murmured, even as she thought she shouldn't encourage him. "Not now but soon enough."

"Have you seen it?" His fingers were now tracing the skin of her neck with a rare softness. It made a chill snake down Dagny's spine, take root in her bones.

"Perhaps I have," she replied. Ivar smirked and leaned in close, his mouth to her ear. Dagny noticed how Sigurd stiffened at her side, how Hvitserk was deliberately looking away from her.

"What payment do you want, seeress?" Ivar hissed. His voice was payment enough, she wanted to say. His fingers digging into her inner thigh were enough.

She turned and kissed him. His hand tightened at the back of her neck and when he finally pulled away, Dagny was pleased at how the air in the room had changed. At how hopefully this reordered what most thought of Ivar, what most thought of her. She wasn't coerced or persuaded. She wanted him.

The wedding feast finally dwindled down and Dagny made to leave. It would be empty in the cabin because Sigurd was speaking to a multitude of people, any one of which he might take to bed, and since it was a wedding, it stood to reason that Hvitserk would make it a long night also. It would just be her and Ivar. Dagny said nothing once the thought occurred to her. She just felt jittery, hands shaking and knee pumping up and down beneath the table. But nothing would happen. She needed the sleep more than anyone else here because she was going to be involved in the sacrifice tomorrow with Lagertha. When the new queen had asked her, Dagny wanted to outright refuse but it was for the benefit of avenging Ragnar's death and the safety of their journey. And it had humbled Lagertha to ask a former slave to join her. She knew she would not appear legitimate without some continuity and Dagny had been a part of every sacrifice Aslaug conducted.

"Dagny," Margrethe started, distracting her from her thoughts. She was across the table, both hands ensnared by Ubbe's. "Would you mind helping me get ready?" And then she smiled, as though she saw through Dagny and knew how much she disapproved.

"Of course," Dagny replied, oddly nervous. But Margrethe's dress was a puzzle. It seemed entirely composed of small ties and ribbons, a beautiful gift that would take far too long to unwrap. Still, this felt more like a challenge than asking a favor.

"I'll help you, Ubbe," Hvitserk said quickly. Ubbe, who had been surprisingly quiet the entire night, just shrugged. Dagny doubted his tunic was the riddle that Margrethe's gown was. But she felt strangely grateful that Hvitserk would be going with her.

Ivar took her by the arm when she stood and while everyone else was still talking animatedly, he said, "She wants to show that she is better than you and that she has everything you don't."

"I don't want anything she has," Dagny responded, glad that Ivar had picked up on the same things she had.

"Good," he said with a smile that might have better belonged on a wolf. "Then she cannot get beneath your skin."

Dagny and Hvitserk followed Ubbe and Margrethe to their new cottage. Dagny could concede that it was decent of Lagertha to allow them that but then, the new queen liked Ubbe best of all Aslaug's sons.

Kattegat was silent, except for Margrethe's excessive giggling. The street quieted their steps and their voices and the moon was high and bright. She turned to look at Hvitserk once. Moonlight was more beautiful than the sun and it painted Hvitserk silver. His hair even appeared white. _I'm sorry,_ she wanted to say. _You deserve better than all this._

"Why are you looking at me?" he murmured finally. A ways ahead, Margrethe and Ubbe were whispering heatedly.

"I was just thinking that I understand if you don't wish to be my friend," Dagny said, the words feeling like cutting off a limb. "I have done you wrong."

Hvitserk shrugged, his hand scratching at the back of his neck. "Of course, I do not want to be your friend." Dagny cut her eyes at him, something heavy seeming to settle on her chest. "I've never wanted to be your friend. But I think you'll be a good one."

"You don't mean that," she said, even though she desperately wished it were true. "I've betrayed you."

"You are too hard on yourself. We were children and after this summer, we are children no more. There is nothing you could do to turn me against you." Dagny waited for the drop in her stomach, the change in the air, that might signify how that would change but she, thankfully, felt nothing. In fact, she felt better than she had in a while.

Upon reaching the cottage, Dagny set to helping Margrethe undress. She waited for the other girl to say something, to say _anything_ , but she was quiet. It was an unnerving silence as it did not seem to come from Margrethe's meekness or any anxiousness. By contrast, Hvitserk and Ubbe were talking loudly, smiling and clapping each other on the shoulder. Dagny bent down and untied another ribbon.

"I'd like you to stay tonight," Margrethe finally said. The cabin went so silent that Dagny could swear she heard an owl in the forest making a kill. She stood and Margrethe turned, her gown loose enough in the back to bare her skin.

"What?" Ubbe asked. "Who do you mean?"

"Hvitserk, of course," she replied and walked away from Dagny. She knew what that meant. It had happened so many times as a slave that it was something Dagny would never forget. She'd been dismissed. Dismissed by a woman who was not so long ago a slave herself. It took the breath out of her. "You know I care for him as well."

Ubbe's eyes met Dagny's and he must have felt the same shock that went through her because his face was suddenly leeched of color. Finally, she looked to Hvitserk, whose hungry eyes were devouring every inch of skin of Margrethe's that had just been revealed.

Dagny knew flaunting power when she saw it. Margrethe had power over everyone in this room and for someone who that was new to, it was difficult not to enjoy it. Ubbe would say nothing because he was kind and understanding and if he loved you, he would do as you wished. Dagny could say nothing. And Hvitserk, as always, would fall prey to desire. Margrethe would have them both in a night just to show Dagny that she could. This was revenge against her for all those months ago, when Dagny had implored her to be kind to Ivar, when Dagny had shut the door to Ubbe's room and she had seen it.

And to Hvitserk, this was nothing. It was a boundary that Sigurd, for all his faults, would never cross. But Hvitserk would do it because to him, there were no lines. Because Margrethe had asked it of him and so it was a decision made. Hvitserk was at times incapable of making a choice but there were some people who he'd listen to. Bjorn, Ubbe, maybe even Dagny. She wondered if she should say something to spare both her and Ubbe the pain but then she considered Hvitserk in his own right. She'd rejected him the moment he came home. He deserved to do what he wanted and maybe that was why Ubbe said nothing. Worse was the thought that, perhaps, Ubbe simply didn't care.

Margrethe turned back to Dagny, as if surprised she was still there, and for a moment, Dagny was appalled that she'd ever said anything in defense of her to Asdis and Dotta and the others. She could not believe that she was once worried if Margrethe was coerced or forced to be with the princes. How foolish was she to think they were becoming friends. How could she have been so blind as to not see her as she was in this moment? Indeed, she thought Margrethe appeared mad.

Ivar would bask in being right but it just made Dagny feel ill.

"I'm flattered," Hvitserk said, voice heady. Dagny and Ubbe's eyes met again, willing victims still hoping to be saved. "But I must decline. You and Ubbe should have this night to yourselves."

Margrethe took the rejection diplomatically and Ubbe looked strangely noncommittal, as if he didn't mind either outcome. Dagny thought back to the night before, of Ubbe's nerves and heavy eyes, and things she should have said to him under cover of darkness and the company of the moon. It was too late.

Hvitserk extended a hand, like Dagny was drowning in the sea and this might be her only hope at being saved. She took it and hated that his fingers were warm and his grip was tight. She left the cottage thinking she should have said something, that she was wise to Margrethe, that Ubbe would be fine, but anything would have made the situation worse. Suddenly, she was outside, her fingers still linked through Hvitserk's.

"Why'd you do that?" she murmured, pulling her hand back. She forced herself to overlook the way his gaze fell to the ground, surprised and disappointed by a blow he knew was coming.

He shrugged.

"I could see that you wanted her and you and Ubbe both say that sharing does not matter to you. That you don't feel jealousy."

He met her eyes. "I don't feel that, Dagny, but you do. I saw your face, like a doe that has spotted her hunter. And I am no fool. I could tell that that was just one battle in your long war against Margrethe. I don't care to be used so I decided to spare us both the misery."

Dagny was glad of the dark because she could feel her throat closing up, her eyes starting to burn, and she didn't truly know why. "Thank you," she said and Hvitserk leaned closer, too close for it to be safe. His brow rumpled as he tried to think of what to say. Dagny's pulse spiked. She didn't know what he could say that wouldn't weigh on her.

Instead he gave her a watered-down smile and put his hand on her shoulder, as if wanting to keep her at arm's length. "I'll see you at the sacrifice, Dagny."

She nodded back but still felt oddly sickened as she watched him walk down the path. She remembered the sacrifice before he left with Bjorn, when he'd painted her face red with stag's blood and kissed her in the great hall, and she wanted to grieve the fact that that was done. But more things were to come, things that were assured to be much greater than anything that had happened while she was a slave. So Dagny took a few well-paced deep breaths, felt her heart stop its wretched pounding, and walked back to her cabin with a confidence she didn't fully feel. The past was over. In two days time, she would be in England and there was much to look forward to.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm so sorry for the long wait! I'm still working on getting a job so it's been high-stress for me lately but I'm looking forward to relaxing a little here soon. I hope you're all enjoying your summer (or winter, for those of you in the southern hemisphere!) and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Dagny was out of place in the seer's cabin. She was dressed for the sacrifice in a gown of pure white with gold painted on her brow and jaw. Lagertha had her hair woven around thorny golden branches into a crown. She looked like a woman of the forest, who could make paths lead nowhere and lure strangers into traps of ivy and vine.

The seer's hut was a tangle of hanging seashells, bones, and other oddities that Dagny didn't understand the meaning of. She sat down across from him when he gave a nod. She knew many people who were skeptical of the seer, if not outright afraid of him, but he'd never bothered Dagny. Not his appearance or odd manner or how he could apparently see you standing there even though he was blind.

"What do you want to know, Dagny the slave?" he asked. Her first thought was to correct him, tell him she was a slave no longer, but the seer knew that. Perhaps the seer knew all and it was Dagny's fate to forever be tied to her past.

"I want to know what will drive Ubbe and I apart," she replied. It had been a long time since she'd first felt that sensation of dread beneath the waters of the lake, a horrible pulling in her gut that told her good things would not last. But now there was Margrethe to consider and Ivar and the great army's plans after killing the Saxon kings. There were so many pieces on the board that Dagny wasn't sure she knew how to play the game.

"Ah," the seer drawled, making one word seem like three. "I should think you could answer that question without my help."

"So it will be Ivar." The seer cocked his head, as if Ivar would have far more to answer for than just this. Dagny assumed this was the only real possibility but she didn't want it confirmed. She wanted the seer to tell her she was foolish and naïve and that none of the things she saw or felt were real.

"Your fate is tied to his and that of his brothers. The pushing and pulling against each other will happen frequently." But she heard the underlying meaning of his words; fate was something that could not be avoided, regardless of how much you tried to change it. If she and the princes were linked, no amount of strife could keep them apart permanently. They would continue to bump up against one another again and again. Fate was fixed. Everyone knew it. And Dagny thought to herself that her own could be much worse than this one.

"Then what of Margrethe's fate? Am I tied to her as well?" she asked, though she'd never felt the pull to her that she had to Aslaug's sons.

"Margrethe's time is past. She will lose favor." She remembered Ubbe saying all those months ago that Margrethe's time was over. It hadn't been true then. Why should it be true now?

"What does that mean?" she responded.

"Her ambitions will be laid bare. None of them will be achieved."

"What are her ambitions?"

Dagny did not expect a straight answer since the seer was known for speaking in riddles but he replied, "She wants to be queen."

"Then Ubbe… he will never take the throne." She ran through the potential reasons for that but there were only two that seemed logical; he did not want to be king or he was killed. The room around her seemed to spin.

"Not the throne of Kattegat." Dagny perked up. As one of the elder sons, the oldest of Aslaug's brood, the thought that he would be offered Kattegat wasn't an unusual one. Bjorn had always appeared to scorn leadership of that kind, preferring to rule on the battlefield and the waves than in a great hall. Ubbe was the next option and by all accounts, even those of his brothers, he would be the right choice.

"Then he will be king elsewhere," she mused. "What of Hvitserk?" He had never seemed regal or serious enough to rule. He frequently needed to be steered in the right direction in order to make a decision. But strange things had happened before and there would have to be a reason for him to refuse.

"Hvitserk will never turn on you and you will never turn on Hvitserk, not truly," the seer responded. It wasn't the question Dagny had asked but it was a better answer than she could hope for. That there was finally something good relieved her. "Do you wish to know if you will be queen?"

The hair on the back of Dagny's neck rose. "No. I wish to know if I can prevent what will happen between Ubbe and I."

The seer smiled, Dagny having apparently passed a test, and pondered how to answer. It made her wonder when the strife between them would occur. It could be years from now, decades, when they were old and gray and feeble and hadn't carried a sword into battle for many moons. But Dagny felt that it would come much sooner than that and she did not want it to creep up on her like a shadow. She wanted to face it head on.

"Perhaps," he finally said. Dagny unclenched her fists, unaware that she'd been digging her nails into her palms.

"How?"

"Don't go on raid with the princes." As quickly as it came, Dagny's good feeling faded. She couldn't refuse to go now, not when they were leaving tomorrow, not when she was helping to lead a sacrifice for their benefit tonight. She suddenly saw herself standing on the shore beside Margrethe, watching the ships leave, relegated to housework or groveling before Lagertha for a position that was due her. She could not bear it. She had pushed for this raid, trained for it, helped plan it. She had to go.

"And what will happen while we avenge Ragnar's death that I would avoid here?"

"It is not my place to tell you that."

"And staying is the only answer?" She prayed it wasn't but the seer nodded and reached out his hand. He would tell her nothing more and Dagny had so much she hadn't asked. She took his hand, ran her tongue across his palm, and left feeling worse than before.

* * *

Dagny was once again carrying the ceremonial blade for a sacrifice. Lagertha wanted continuance with the old regime. She needed some legitimacy with the princes and anyone remaining who had been loyal to Aslaug. So Dagny was invited and dressed to match the new queen in all ways.

Lagertha's fingertips were stained with gold and she ran her thumb over Dagny's bottom lip. She resisted the urge to bite her. The queen turned around and began walking down the path cleared by the warriors and bystanders. Dagny's fingers curled around the carefully wrapped blade and she followed.

It would be a human sacrifice this night, as this raid was perhaps the most important one in years. The volunteer was a young handsome man, an earl of Sweden, ideal for the task and what Lagertha wanted to achieve with it. He was waiting atop an altar built specifically for this purpose, hands holding on to posts on either side of him.

The queen and Dagny appeared twins of light and dark, though they were dressed and styled the same. A barn owl was perched on Lagertha's right shoulder and when she walked, it would often turn its head in confusion.

Dagny cut her eyes to the right as she walked behind Lagertha. The princes stood in a line, accompanied by Floki and Helga. She felt her stomach tighten when she saw the girl from Spain with them. Tanaruz was tantamount to a slave, despite how much Helga protested, and Dagny felt for her in ways that surprised her. She was young but not young enough for her mind to have blocked the raid that stole her from her family, that perhaps _killed_ her family. For once, Dagny was grateful that she couldn't remember where she came from or whether she had had a mother and a father or siblings. Tanaruz was understandably fragile and it wouldn't be good for her to witness this.

Ivar was snarling, even as the light from the fires made the angles of his face appear to be made from gold. None of the other princes seemed to be that bothered by Lagertha leading the sacrifice but Ivar could be single-minded in that way.

On her other side, Astrid's expression matched Ivar's. Part of her probably believed she deserved Dagny's place in the procession, even if she hadn't presided over sacrifices before.

They arrived at the bottom of the altar and Dagny said the ceremonial words before kneeling and lifting the blade for Lagertha's inspection. She kept her head bowed as Lagertha pulled the sword from its bindings and the barn owl came to rest on Dagny's shoulder instead. Though kneeling before a usurper, before a woman who did not deserve the title she'd stolen, Dagny was still taken by the ceremony. It was the drums matching the beating of her heart and the comet streaking through the sky and the owl that was digging its claws into the fur collar of her gown.

When Dagny stood, she saw that the earl on the altar showed no fear or apprehension as Lagertha approached him. She admired him for it. The queen asked the earl if he was ready and when he agreed, she lifted the sword. Its tip touched him in the middle of his bare chest. Dagny was close enough to see his skin ripple with goosebumps. Then Lagertha pushed the blade in, as easily as she might cut meat at dinner. Blood thinly streamed down his chest. Eventually, the earl's hands came to rest on Lagertha's shoulders, both of them moving together until the sword pushed out of his back and he finally tired. Rivulets of blood hit the floor of the altar, running across the wood to flow into the collection bowl.

Dagny had been attending sacrifices for many years but watching death was never an easy thing to do, noble purpose or not. She focused on Lagertha, blonde hair coming undone, cheekbones streaked with gold. She did not care for the new queen because of what had happened to Aslaug. The disrespect she'd showed her. The way a supposed champion of women would blame another for her husband's faults. But Dagny could admit she was radiant, strong enough to deal with whatever was thrown at her, and that she'd had the honor to perform a sacrifice for all of Ragnar's sons, not just her own.

Lagertha turned to Dagny and nodded. A priest retrieved the owl, which flapped its wings in protest, and a slave arrived beside her, cradling the collection bowl. It seemed deep enough to cover her entire arm in blood.

Lagertha had done her a great favor and told her to mark each of the warriors going. Normally it was something that would be performed by the leader of the sacrifice but as if sensing a repetition of what had happened at the last sacrifice thrown by a queen of Kattegat, Lagertha bestowed the honor onto Dagny. She was glad to do it. As a slave, she'd always watched and wanted to participate but she had been stuck serving, wearing tattered dresses and hoping that no raider with rising bloodlust took notice of her. Things were so very different now.

She came to stand before the princes. Bjorn was the only one not in attendance. She raised her eyebrows at Sigurd, who was now the first warrior for her to mark. He only shrugged in response but his blue eyes sparkled, like he knew exactly where Bjorn was and he'd tell for the right price. People underestimated Sigurd, Dagny had always thought. He was more a clever fox than a regular man.

Dagny dipped her index fingers into the blood, noting how warm it still seemed, and dragged them across Sigurd's high cheekbones. She put one other swipe of red across his brow, as if declaring him prince of blood and bone instead of the secretly kind person she thought he might be.

She moved to the next in line, Hvitserk. He was grinning and it almost made Dagny lose focus and smile too. His hair was a multitude of braids and loose pieces combined together, hanging down the front of his chest and obscuring part of his face. She took hold of the tie holding it all together, tossed it over his shoulder, and tucked a loose strand behind his ear. This had been done on purpose. His smile had warped into a smirk and there was a glint in his eyes that seemed to ask, _Aren't you just a small bit tempted?_ She shook her head at him but her mouth wanted to tweak up in a smile.

For Hvitserk, she took two fingers on each hand and traced his cheeks, four streaks of red creeping down his face, blood falling onto the smooth skin of his throat and the neck of his tunic. Then she tipped each of his ears with it, for what reason, she couldn't say. She put a line on his brow as well, deciding that that would unite all of the princes.

Ubbe was next. He was stoic, lips pursed, more like he feared Dagny's wrath than that he was truly reverent for the ceremony. She had to ignore it, just as she had to disregard Margrethe clinging to his arm.

Ubbe's face was the hardest to paint because it seemed incredibly important to do something precise and meaningful. But he wasn't going into battle or performing a sacrifice. It did not need to be perfect. So Dagny wasn't sure why it felt so difficult. Finally, she just had to go with what she was feeling, as she'd stood before him for so long that she thought people were noticing.

Ubbe stiffened when she reached forward, apparently not wanting her to touch him. She couldn't blame him, when touching him before had brought this much strife to him. She placed each index finger at his hairline and pulled the streak of burnished red down across his eyelids, over his cheeks, and onto his neck. She placed blood along his jaw and in his eyebrows and down the tip of his nose and finally, across his forehead. He kept his eyes closed the entire time.

After she was done with Ubbe, Margrethe stood ready, eyes burning so brightly Dagny could swear the girl was wishing her to catch flame. Margrethe wasn't going on the raid so there was no need to mark her like a warrior. Dagny knew it would be petty but she dipped her whole hand into the bowl and flicked her fingers at Margrethe, no grace in the movement at all. No honor. Red bloomed across Margrethe's face and she squeezed her eyes shut, surprised by how quickly Dagny had moved. It had splattered her gown. For that, Dagny was rather sorry.

Ivar was the last of the princes. His hair was long and unbound and strands of it gleamed beneath the light of the torches. He bared his teeth in an expression that might be called a smile or perhaps a leer, something a monster would do before he lured you beneath the waves and had you for his own. For Ivar, she broke decorum and smiled.

She bent to his level and for the first time, she was aware of everyone watching her, of the beat of the drums and the crackling of the fire. But Ivar was staring at her, his pretty eyes hooded and made dark, and she couldn't bring herself to care about what other people thought.

For Ivar, she marked his brow first and ran red along the length of his nose. She placed a finger at each edge of his lips and dragged lines of blood down his throat. His pulse was so fast that under normal circumstances, it would have worried her. Finally, she took her thumb and put blood on his bottom lip, the way Lagertha put gold on hers. For a singular moment, she thought he was going to grab her wrist and pull her to the ground beside him. For a singular moment, she wanted him to.

She stood, face feeling warm, and did not look back at the princes before moving onto Floki, Harald Finehair, and everyone else. It was a time-consuming duty and Dagny was exhausted when it was done. The slave girl kept beside her and her arms didn't appear to quiver beneath the weight of the blood in the bowl. Dagny wanted to free her then and there, even if it meant ruining what the sacrifice accomplished. But eventually, Dagny finished marking every raider and anyone else in attendance. When it was over, she flicked blood onto the face of the slave who had helped her, remembering that Aslaug had always done her that honor too.

Now it was a time for feasting and fun and for the first time, Dagny thought she might really enjoy herself. She wouldn't be working or worried about men being untoward. She could be herself, uninhibited by anything at all. It was a freeing thought, as even the feast before Hvitserk left on raid the last time had been fraught with worry. Now, she felt proud, as she'd done a sacred duty and this raid was something she championed.

Dagny went into the great hall. In truth, she wanted to find Lagertha. Even though it would behoove her to do it, Dagny thought she owed the queen her thanks. It had been a beautiful ceremony and it was certainly something she didn't have to do.

"Dagny," came a voice to the left of the doors. It was Floki. Dagny noticed Helga was sitting at a table behind him, Tanaruz on the floor beside her, hugging her knees to her chest.

"How is she?" Dagny asked when she reached Floki's side but lowly, as she didn't want Helga to hear. She didn't seem to believe anything was wrong with Tanaruz, other than adjusting to the vastly different culture of the north.

Floki shrugged in a manner that Dagny might have called dismissive, if she didn't know him. "She's no different."

"I don't think you should have brought her tonight." Dagny had visited Tanaruz every day since Floki had asked it of her. The poor thing was scared of her own shadow and even Dagny, who did her best to appear utterly harmless, elicited a response of shrieking and hiding. It was always a difficult thing to admit when there was nothing to be done but Dagny had been healing for long enough that she could usually tell when a person was lost. Tanaruz would likely never return to herself.

"Oh, it is worse than that. She'll be coming on the raid with us."

Dagny's mouth hung open for a moment. "What?" she asked in disbelief.

Floki nodded his head toward Helga. "She won't hear anything against it. They're both coming."

"I've got an awful feeling about that." It was true enough because quite suddenly, she felt nauseated, as if she'd drunk too much wine. "Floki, I'm worried about Helga too. Taking the girl to begin with, the way she's acted about everything since the raid."

Floki looked like he agreed, a sort of resigned expression on his face. Before being freed, Dagny would never have spoken so brazenly to him. In fact, she may not have spoken to Floki at all. He was someone who had always intimidated her, though he could frequently be nice enough and he always indulged when someone asked him to tell a tale. But since Bjorn's raid to the Mediterranean had returned, Ivar threw them together frequently. Dagny found that she liked Floki a great deal and apparently, he must trust her since he asked her to help Tanaruz.

Floki eventually introduced her formally to Harald Finehair and his brother, Halfdan. As a child, Dagny had been terrified of them. Part of her still wanted to run when they smiled at her, matching grins on mouths wide enough to swallow you whole. Harald and Halfdan seemed like a pair out of the stories, singing their eerie songs and sharing women. But after speaking with them, Harald seemed almost sweet and Halfdan appeared loyal to the point of being extreme. Perhaps they were fearsome on the battlefield but in person, she liked them both.

After meeting them and some of the other raiders, Dagny found herself beside Ubbe. He was leaning against a wall of the great hall, nursing a goblet of wine. Across from him was the main table where Margrethe was sitting with Hvitserk and Sigurd while Ivar looked on angrily. Ubbe straightened up when he caught sight of her. She shouldn't speak to him, part of her warned. Not after the night before and the way Margrethe acted. Not with the way Ivar was pretending not to watch them.

"I'm sorry for what happened last night," Ubbe said before Dagny could make her way to the table. She shook her head and took up a place beside him against the wall.

"There is no need to apologize for something you didn't do," she replied. Ubbe appeared to weigh his answer.

"But I did do it. I stood to the side and said nothing. Isn't that just as bad? To watch something unfold that you disapprove of and do nothing to stop it?"

Dagny supposed that was the truth in many cases but shook her head again. "Neither of us had a choice. Hvitserk was the only one there with any agency." She looked at Hvitserk now, barely disguising flirting with Margrethe at the grand table. He was tucking a flower behind her ear. He'd done that to Dagny so many times she'd lost count.

"So you aren't angry with me?"

"It's impossible to be angry with you." He brightened up at that, his friendship with Dagny something he apparently treasured a great deal. She didn't know how to reconcile that, how to understand it, because it still seemed strange to be valued not as a commodity but as a person. "That doesn't bother you?" she asked, nodding towards Hvitserk and Margrethe. Even Sigurd appeared to totally disapprove of it.

Ubbe shrugged, a gesture that didn't seem to fit him. "I knew it would happen when she agreed to marry me. They've been close for a long time and I want her to be happy." Dagny wondered at how oblivious she must have been to not notice how friendly Margrethe had always been with Hvitserk. But she still thought Ubbe was strange for just letting it happen. If this is what Margrethe wanted, then she shouldn't have married Ubbe. "You disapprove."

"I didn't say that," she replied. In some ways, she knew why Margrethe was doing it. Dagny thought she was becoming unstable but the jealousy was something she empathized with. The power play Margrethe felt she had to make was something Dagny intrinsically understood.

"You didn't have to." He gave her a lopsided grin and she was glad that he didn't take her so seriously. "Do you want to dance?"

Dagny hadn't noticed until this moment that people were playing music, one of which was Sigurd. He was strumming a lute with impunity and he was actually unbelievably talented. But her eyes drifted to Ivar, a boy whose title should have been prince of darkness and blood. For a moment, she could see him seated on his father's throne with a crown of bone and waves of scarlet at his feet.

"And enrage Margrethe further? I don't think so," she replied. Ubbe shrugged again, like none of it meant a thing. But it would mean something to Dagny. It would certainly mean something to Margrethe and Ivar.

"It's just a dance." She turned to him, saw the way the red on his face highlighted how fair he was, how light his eyes were. The seer said their fates were entwined, that Ubbe would become a king. Dagny thought that, in some ways, he already was one.

Hvitserk and Margrethe were dancing now, closer than they had any right to be, and maybe that was why Ubbe felt the need to ask Dagny, to turn this back on them. She could feel Ivar's eyes on her, like he could hear her thoughts.

"No, it's not," she replied then began to grin. "Besides, you are a poor dancer."

Ubbe smiled back, the blood on his face starting to crack. "I'll remember you said that."

She walked away from him, sure she had done the right thing for them both, and came around the table to sit at Ivar's side. The youngest prince had followed her with his eyes for most of the night and it made Dagny feel like a doe in the forest, wary of each crunch of leaves or creaking tree. The deer dreaded the pounce and the ultimate victory of predator over prey but Dagny had been waiting for it for a long time and she was ready for him to finally strike.

Ivar's hair had grown long in the time since his raid with Ragnar and it had turned him from a boy into a warrior prince, someone out of the sagas. With his face painted, she had no doubt that people were frightened of him. She imagined him on Floki's chariot looking this way, surrounded by mist and fog and primeval forest, clad in mail and armor, hung with arm rings and swords. It was an image that burned itself into her mind. She'd seen Ivar on the chariot only once since Floki had constructed it. It made him tall and imposing and enemies would see his snarl from a great distance.

"I hate it when you don't do things just because you pity me," he said finally, without turning to look at her. He took a long drink from a goblet in front of him. They were alone at the table now. Sigurd was dancing with a serving girl, having foregone the lute, and Ubbe had managed to steal Margrethe away from Hvitserk. He gave Dagny a triumphant smile over her shoulder.

"I didn't do that because I feel sorry for you," she said, though it was a small bit the truth. Ivar always looked forlorn when dancing was about. If you asked him, he would tell you it was the stupidest activity known to man. But it didn't stop him from wanting to do it. "I would just rather spend my night with you."

Ivar smiled slyly, the light catching the blood on his bottom lip. It was the right thing for her to say. "Where were you this morning?"

"I went to the seer," she replied. This morning the cabin had been empty and the enmity of the night before had faded because when she slept beside Ivar, she could think of nothing else. She didn't remember Hvitserk's pain or Margrethe's grudge or her conversation with a drunk Ubbe in the forest. The only thing she knew was the smoothness of Ivar's skin and the warmth of his chest and the odd security she felt when he trapped her in his arms. She'd hated to leave him this morning and despised giving up the perfect way to lay her head on his shoulder and tuck her arm beneath his.

"And what did he tell you?" Ivar leaned closer, so close that his chest was pressed against her arm, that his mouth was near her throat.

"He said our fates are tied together." She folded her fingers over his, turned so that they were chest-to-chest. She did not mention that the seer had all but told her that Ivar would bring her misfortune, that he would do far worse than just driving a wedge between her and Ubbe. But the future could be malleable and men the gods smiled on one day would be cast down the next. Dagny could change it. She hoped she could change it.

"I have always known that," Ivar said, the red on his brow shining like it was still wet. "Do you agree? Have you seen the same thing?"

"I have seen you at the head of the army and I have seen you on the battlements of a great walled city and I have seen victory against the Saxons. And I will be at your side for all those things." The walled city was just a fuzzy place she'd seen in a dream. She couldn't be sure that any of it was real and she hadn't been able to ask the seer his opinion on what she could do. But Ivar clearly believed her. He thought she was always right.

"Good," he replied, smiling wide. He took her hand and flipped it over. Then he leant down and ran his tongue across the length of her palm, all the while looking up at her. Dagny had always wondered why the seer asked for this as payment. It seemed meaningless. There was no clear purpose that it served. But she understood it now. It sent something through her that Dagny had no way of explaining and she did not know if it was due to anything supernatural or just the normal way Ivar made her feel.

When the fete finally came to an end, she and Ivar went back to the empty cabin. He had barely sat down before she was draped across his chest and kissing him. Ivar tore her thorny crown from her hair with no sense of delicacy. The gold pins followed shortly after until Dagny's black hair fell in a swath down her back. His mouth found a patch of skin at the base of her throat and her head tilted back as his hands began roaming. His teeth bit down so hard that Dagny thought he might've drawn blood but she did not mind. She liked that Ivar was rough at times and that he had no intention of ever changing that.

When she pulled away, she saw gold had replaced the blood on Ivar's mouth. It was on his hands, his tunic, the skin of his neck. Dagny knew that at any moment Sigurd or Hvitserk might decide to come home. They could be waiting outside the door now, knowing that this was happening, and she did not care. It was a freeing thought.

"Did you want to dance tonight?" Ivar murmured, leaning in again. Dagny was on her knees in front of him while he sat on the edge of her bed. He knotted his fingers in her hair and pulled her head to the side, kissing the line of her throat.

"I'm only interested in dancing with you," she whispered, feeling her skin prickle. He laughed sarcastically.

"I can't do it. You know that," he said but his voice belied hurt at the thought.

Dagny leaned back and took him in. To think, there were people who didn't consider him handsome. "You have never tried. I can teach you the hand movements."

"It's not the same." His eyes were large and beneath the war paint of blood and gold, he looked vulnerable. Dagny felt like a serpent was coiling itself around her heart and beginning to squeeze.

She scoffed. "It's still dancing. Do me this favor. Just try." Ivar groaned and rolled his eyes. Pride would be the death of him.

"You're a silly girl, Dagny. I am a man of war, not some lord of flowers and forest." But he was fighting a losing battle against a smile.

"Put your hands like this," she told him and Ivar followed her, grimacing while trying to focus. It was a pattern of flipping your hands, running your fingers over the arms of your partner, deciding the right time to take their hands in yours. He was remarkable at it, as he had a memory cultivated to remember details. Dagny was rather flattered that he appeared to be taking it seriously. "You have good hands. Elegant."

He gave her a scoff. "This isn't a real dance," he said, even as he parroted her movements, dragging his knuckles down the inside of her arms.

"No, it isn't," she replied, smiling, and he laughed. It was a sound that felt like it echoed through the cabin, down into her bones. "Regular dancing is boring. It is nothing but looping your arms around your partner's neck and swaying."

"Show me," Ivar said, eyes hungry. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He did not need to be told to put his hands on her waist, the fabric of her gown bunching between his fingers. She did not want to move. She wanted to stay frozen like this, like a cursed girl in a story. "I like this better."

He was looking down at her and it made Dagny imagine she was a warrior about to pledge her service to him. But his gaze changed and suddenly she felt a maiden, nervous on her wedding day. "Thank you, Dagny," he said suddenly, his grip on her waist tightening.

"For what?" she asked.

"You indulge my every whim. I think you can read minds." She smiled and he looked at her then, as if really seeing her for the first time. "You are soft, Dagny," he said and it didn't seem an insult. "And you're beautiful. And…"

"And?" she said, wanting to smirk or joke with him. But he appeared nervous, the color leeching from his face, eyes large and unusually light. It was an expression of his that Dagny greatly treasured.

"And I want you to lock the door." Ivar was resigned now, schooling his features into neutrality, but she knew he was still anxious. She was close enough to see him gulp.

"Are you sure?" she murmured, heart pounding.

"I am utterly sure," he responded.

 **The calm before the storm! Some love before the storm! I just thought there needed to be a break between this chapter and next. We will be seeing England next chapter! I miss the sort of sweet Ivar from season 4, lol. But at least, he and Dagny got to have their time!**


	17. Chapter 17

**I know, I know! Two updates in a month! Who am I? But I have an interview coming up so I needed the distraction from stress (and maybe to procrastinate… maybe). I can't believe we are finally in England! Can you believe I thought I'd have this part written last year? Lol, I'm so funny with my unrealistic goals. Not so much happens but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy! Thanks again for all of your reviews and follows and faves. It means so much to me!**

The ship creaked loudly, the only sound other than light snoring. Ivar was awake. It was the first night onboard and he could not sleep. He hated the sloshing of the water against the side of the boat and he abhorred the waves and he despised how bright the moon was in the sky, like it might be laughing at him for his fear of the sea.

Dagny had stood on the prow of the dragon-headed longship beside Sigurd when it left the fjord of Kattegat this morning. She had not even set her bow and quiver down before following his brother to the front of the ship. They were still slung across her back as she watched the boat make its way through the water and out of the fjord. She and Sigurd had been smiling, the apparent amazement of seeing the open water for the first time smoothing even Sigurd's rough edges. Neither of them had been on raid before. Neither of them had ever left Kattegat. Ivar didn't know how they could be so pleased to see something that haunted his darkest dreams. Open sea, dark water, murky waves.

Dagny was still grinning when she made her way to the stern, passing the oarsmen and beneath the sail. Her hair was only half pulled away from her face and the rest was curling in the already damp salty air. Some men said women should never be allowed aboard a ship, that they provoked the goddess of the sea, Rán, and made her jealous. Dagny was the only girl Ivar had ever seen that a goddess had a right to be envious of. If she sank their ships, so be it.

She went to Hvitserk and Ubbe, who were organizing their weapons. Ivar could hear them talking from his vantage point across the ship. Dagny shed her large bow, its wooden body the length of her torso.

"You seem in an unusually good mood," Ubbe said, taking her bow. Hvitserk quirked an eyebrow, slicing into an apple a bare hour into a three day journey.

"I am," Dagny replied and shrugged out of her quiver's strap. "It is a great day."

"You're kidding," Hvitserk said. She scoffed and handed the quiver to Ubbe.

"What are you talking about?" Ivar saw her cheeks redden.

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about! It is all over your face. You are completely different today." He ignored Hvitserk's sly glance in his direction. "I can't believe this. Tell me everything."

"Stop teasing her about it, Hvitserk," Ubbe said. Hvitserk rolled his eyes in response. He seemed ready to put the past aside and just be Dagny's friend. She must be glad of that. "I'm happy for you." Ubbe patted Dagny on the arm like she was his younger sister and smiled. Ivar recognized it as something bittersweet, though still unfailingly charming. After all, it was Ubbe.

Hvitserk looked between Ubbe and Dagny, as if trying to adjust to an entirely new world, one where he had been usurped as Dagny's closest friend, as her lover. Before he went on raid with Bjorn, he'd known things to be one way. When he returned, nothing was the same. Ivar actually wanted to feel sorry for him. But Hvitserk's expression softened. Perhaps he was adjusting well.

Dagny came across the ship to him not long after and sat beside him, so close their arms were touching. Their backs were against the side of the boat. Men's eyes had watched Dagny as she approached and they had looked at them together then. Ivar reveled in it.

She had a small bottle in her hand. "What's that?" he asked with a nod.

"It's something in case I get seasick," she replied without looking at him. "I have no memory of ever being on a ship, though I'm told that when I arrived in Kattegat, I was incredibly ill."

Ivar didn't remember that. He'd been so young at the time that it felt like Dagny had always been in the household. But Ubbe probably remembered it. Still, Dagny did not strike him as someone who would be sick off the waves. She had walked to the front of the ship with a confidence that came from enjoying it. She had not even stumbled or lost her balance the way many new to boats often did. She had not brought the draught for herself. Ivar wanted desperately to hate her for it but he had never known anyone other than his mother to show him that level of compassion, of sincere caring.

"I don't get seasick," he said.

"You don't?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"No, what bothers me is being on the water at all. The thought of drowning. I cannot swim." Ivar often dreamed of the waves closing over him, losing sight of the light of the sun, being so deep that he was unsure if he was floating to the bottom or the top.

"Well, I can swim," she said.

"And what good does that do me?" Ivar responded.

"It means I'll save you if you fall overboard."

He scoffed. "You are not that strong a swimmer."

"Indeed, I am. I'm a better swimmer than Ubbe, am I not?" she said loudly enough for Ubbe to turn. He gave her a look that Ivar knew well, one of a more mature older brother. "We raced to the center of the lake in the woods last summer. Who won?"

Ubbe groaned. "You did."

"We had two rematches. Who won?"

"You did." Ubbe pretended it galled him but Ivar saw that he loved it. He'd probably let Dagny win just to have the excuse to race her again.

"So you see," Dagny began, turning back to him, "I could save you from the water."

Ivar was thinking of that now, as his stomach was churning and most everyone else was asleep. It was the middle of the night and the sea had a way of becoming even more daunting under only the light of the moon.

His brothers and Dagny were all crowded together at the stern of the ship, a pile of bodies and limbs. Bjorn was doing his best to not touch the others but inevitably failing. Ubbe was laid out long, arms and legs extended so that Hvitserk was pressed up against Dagny's back, an arm sloppily thrown over her waist, as if he just couldn't find anywhere else to put it. She was on her stomach, one hand under her head and the other stretched toward Ivar. If he was asleep, her fingers would be on his chest. Sigurd had managed to squeeze into the space between their heads and the railing, half of them using him as a pillow. They were peaceful now and Ivar thought they looked like a Roman painting from Ecbert's hall, entwined together like they were casting a spell.

On any other night this might have bothered him but Ivar had had Dagny and everyone aboard knew it. It helped that she seemed thrilled by it, that she was happier today than she had appeared for the last couple of weeks. It also did not hurt that Dagny was a real prize, a girl of beauty and kindness and skill, and the warriors in the army would know that she'd bestowed favor on him. Ivar was no longer just intelligent or worthy of pity. If he had control of the great army, he would have it all.

Dagny's free hand grabbed at the air and when it found nothing, her eyes fluttered open. "Ivar?" she murmured, voice thick with sleep and grogginess. "Are you on watch?"

"Yes," he lied. She smiled and propped herself up on her elbow, hand under her chin. Hvitserk groaned at the movement but didn't move his arm. Ivar's blood wanted to bubble like a pot full of stew but Dagny's grin was wry and her hair was frizzy with sea air. He remembered the night before, when she had been kind and patient and every inch of her skin had gleamed like silver.

"It would be no easy feat but I could get them to move," she jerked her head towards his brothers, "and then you could be in the middle. You need to rest." She blinked once, took stock of Hvitserk's arm, and moved away from him. Suddenly she was so close that Ivar wished he were laying down.

"Go back to sleep, Dagny. Save your healing for someone who needs it," he said. Half the things she had brought aboard were bandages and tinctures, as if she anticipated being told to remain behind when the battle started. For all that Ubbe trained her, he'd only ever counselled caution in Ivar's hearing. _Your leg isn't healed. You aren't quick enough. You see better from a distance._ Dagny's leg may never be right again and archers fought in the shield wall frequently. Ivar could see that she wanted it. After all, she had killed one of Lagertha's fabled shieldmaidens. There was a scar on Astrid's cheek from a blow Dagny had never intended her to recover from. Were Ivar the leader, he'd give Dagny command of the archers. He'd give her free rein to fight where she so chose.

He hoped it was because he recognized skill in her, not just some wretched affection that made him want to bow to her whims.

She sighed suddenly. "Fine. Do not listen to me and fall asleep on your chariot while Bjorn kills Aelle."

She meant it as a joke but Ivar grimaced. Bjorn didn't deserve the honor. He may have been Ragnar's favorite many moons ago but it was Ivar who went to England. It was Ivar who bore witness to what happened and came back with the message of what his father wanted.

"Well, I am awake now," Dagny murmured, her palm pressed flat against his chest. His heartbeat mimicked those small birds at the market, flapping their wings against the cage so hard it's unimaginable that they haven't broken free. People said Ragnar had been manipulated by a slave woman, that she'd played a good game and ensnared him with drugs from her homeland. Ragnar overcame it by drowning her, at least that's what Ubbe and Hvitserk said. Ivar did not want to be rid of the magic Dagny wove into her touch. He had no desire to see things with her finished.

He leaned forward and kissed her. She tasted like the sea, all salt and spray, and he wanted it to never end. He thought of the night before, how he'd untied the neck of her gown and kissed the line of her throat, the valley between her breasts, the skin across her ribs. He ached for it to happen again.

Dagny pulled back and murmured, "I love you." Ivar's chest tightened and if he did not know any better, he would think he was ill.

"What god have you angered to curse you so?" he replied, his voice husky.

"Why does it have to be a curse?" she asked. "Why can't it be a gift? Everything is dark clouds and lightning with you, Ivar. Sometimes there is sun."

Ivar had felt the sun shining on him the morning he went to England with Ragnar. He'd spent the night in Dagny's arms. His father had chosen him for the voyage. And if he were to drown, he thought it just might be worth it. But Ragnar was murdered and treacherous Saxons had brought him back to Kattegat's shores where his mother had been killed and Dagny was a free woman who could reject him. She'd become a shieldmaiden and she'd all but pledged her sword to Ubbe.

But with the army, with Dagny's rejection of Hvitserk and her love for Ivar, he thought the sun was beginning to break through the clouds again.

"I love you," he said, unsure if he meant it, unsure if he even understood the words outside of his relationship with Aslaug. But he remembered being strapped to the mast of Ragnar's ship and going under the water and while he sank and screamed, he thought of Dagny. Not of his brothers, nor of Ragnar or his mother. He'd thought only of Dagny's deft fingers weaving bandages, rubbing salve on his constant wounds, holding his chin when she kissed him. What was that, if not love?

The anxiousness in Dagny's expression disappeared. "If we kiss anymore, I will be drunk. Take my mind off of it. Teach me English."

It was a frequent request of Dagny's and one that was easy to fulfill. It took her some time but eventually, she could grasp the few words and phrases Ivar knew, though she wrinkled her nose when she practiced, like there had never been anything so deplorably hideous as the English language. Still, she had more of a knack for it than Hvitserk or Sigurd.

He knew it was a trick, that she planned on boring him to sleep, and he hated that it was working. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy and then he was lying beside Dagny, who was wearing a satisfied grin. When he woke up, light was breaking through the clouds and her head was on his shoulder, her cloak thrown over them both.

Dagny was not shy about taking on work around the ship. She cleaned up, she learned how to manipulate the sail, she even rowed. Ivar was not the only one impressed by her. No one had said anything beforehand, just as nobody had opposed Helga and Tanaruz coming, but Ivar thought many of the seasoned raiders must be questioning Dagny's presence aboard. They believed her to be a simple healer, someone they would have to constantly look out for to stay on the good side of the princes. But Dagny was a hard worker and if there was anything she couldn't do, she had someone teach her.

She and Hvitserk kept watch that night. Ivar pretended to sleep, though being so close to Ubbe and Bjorn frankly made him sick. Still, he and Dagny weren't having much of a conversation. As far as Ivar could tell, they were just sharing cheese and bread in silence.

Hvitserk finally said something that caused Dagny to scoff around her bite of cheese. Ivar strained to look at them. "Sigurd is a fool," she said lowly. Sigurd turned over on the other side of Ubbe, as if he'd heard Dagny decry him.

"Well…" Hvitserk began, taking a bite out of bread that was already staling. "It does beggar belief."

Dagny laughed. "So you're sitting up with me tonight just to obtain details on what happened?" Hvitserk must have shrugged suggestively because she pushed at his shoulder and he had to catch himself on the deck. Ivar thought his brother probably preferred it when Dagny was soft and wore flower crowns, not now when she was a shieldmaiden.

"What's talk between friends?" Hvitserk responded, voice so low that his words sounded garbled to Ivar's ears. This was the right question to ask of Dagny, he knew, because she wanted things to be as they once were. She wanted Hvitserk to be comfortable with her. She wanted to be his friend. She'd never said the words but then, she didn't have to. Dagny was easy to read and this was a wound Ivar knew she desperately wanted healed.

"Are you going to tell everyone?"

"Wouldn't it be to your benefit if I did? I must tell Sigurd at least." Sigurd was, predictably, the worst part of this. He was callous, petty, cruel, and Ivar was more than aware that he didn't believe anything could possibly have happened between him and Dagny. It was a rumor, Dagny was a generous liar, these were the things his brother most likely believed but at least he had not repeated them in Ivar's hearing.

"Some things should be private." Dagny got nothing out of showing off and frankly, it made little sense to Ivar. There came a point in time where you were tired of answering questions or sensing people's judgment. She didn't care much for what others thought. He was unsure if that was a strength of hers or a weakness.

"Then I won't tell anyone," Hvitserk responded, sincere. Their voices dropped even lower after a loud snore from one of the warriors and Ivar could no longer hear them. It was probably a good thing.

When her watch shift ended, Dagny wedged herself between Ubbe and Ivar and tucked her arm around Ivar's waist. He wondered if she could hear his heart pounding, if she could feel him tensing up. But soon, he was asleep and it no longer mattered.

The next day, they finally saw the shores of England. Though it was arrogant to flaunt their ships along the coastline, Ivar liked the thought of the Saxon kings knowing they were coming and fulfilling Ragnar's promises of revenge. Apparently Bjorn did too, as he'd given the order.

A large island was visible on the horizon, its mountainous monastery breaking through the fog of the North Sea. Dagny was at the prow, trying to catch a better glimpse of it.

"Do you know what that is?" Ivar asked. She did not break her gaze, like the island would vanish if she did not keep looking at it.

"Of course, I know," she responded, breathless. "It's Lindisfarne. Your father took Athelstan from there."

"Why do you love that story so?" Of all of Ragnar's triumphs and victories, of all his relationships, the things that happened with Athelstan held no interest to Ivar. His mother had hated him for being a Christian. Floki had hated him too and dealt him the blow that killed him. Ivar saw nothing wrong with that.

"Because it wasn't the familiar tale of war and bloodshed and loss. There was love between them. It wasn't a story at all. It was true." Ivar wondered if he was supposed to be Ragnar, if she was to be Athelstan, if the same old tale was playing out once more. But he remembered waking up that morning before Ubbe and Dagny and seeing how the backs of their hands were touching. There was no other contact between them, which appeared to be deliberate, as Sigurd looked to be smothered by Ubbe's shoulder and free arm. But their knuckles were entwined and his stomach twisted into knots. Ivar was many things but a fool was not among them.

Ubbe was the one to free Dagny, he was the one who'd trained her, he was the one she looked up to most. If anything, he was Ragnar. But what became of Ivar? He was Ragnar too, just the ruthless, intelligent side rather than the noble one. He was not one to be relegated to the side, somebody people barely recalled. The old stories were over and it was a new age. The heathen army would have a saga all its own and Ivar's name would be the one remembered.

* * *

Dagny knew from her first view of the coastline that she would love England and she did. It was a place that loomed large in the stories and every inch of the land seemed old. Lindisfarne, even at a distance, had appeared impossibly ancient. They frequently passed by ruins that Ivar claimed were at least 500 years old. England was a country of forest and rolling hills and its grass grew a green that Dagny had never imagined was possible. Other warriors complained about the ceaseless misting rain and mud, the wide rivers with no bridges, the steep hills. She adored it all.

They'd landed in Northumbria, the country king Aelle ruled. He no doubt knew of their arrival, since several Saxon scouts had gone running the moment their longships ran ashore. That there would be a fight was inevitable. Bjorn said little about it but he didn't seem intimidated. It told Dagny that fighting him would be nothing, that the army they had would be far more than Aelle anticipated.

"How's your leg?" Ubbe asked as they made their way closer to the king's home. Ivar was ahead, leading the way in his chariot. Bjorn was most likely just letting him have his way.

"It's fine," Dagny responded. In truth, it ached. She was unsure if that was due to the constant rain or the constant walking. They didn't have the time to stop.

"Is it?" She looked at him and rolled her eyes. Drops of rain tipped his hair, ran down his plated armor. "Ride with Ivar. Give me your shield."

"And be thought more of a burden than I already am? No."

"I've met mules less stubborn than you are, Dagny," he replied and she smiled. "The battle against Aelle and his men will probably be on foot."

"I can fight in the shield wall, Ubbe. You have trained me well," she said because he sounded tentative and unsure.

"I know you can."

"But you don't want me to." He sighed, as he always did when he was about to say something disagreeable.

"No, I don't. I want you to stay back with Helga and the others."

"Ubbe, you can't be serious." She tried not to be hurt by it but it was difficult not to be.

"I won't ask you to do it. But you listen to me when we are on the battlefield. You heed anything Bjorn says. And stay in the back lines."

"The back lines won't see any fighting against a force this meagre and Ivar wants me at the front." She didn't mention that Ivar thought Ubbe should not have a voice in the discussion since it had been a long time since his last raid. Frankly, she would be better served by asking Bjorn to place her somewhere than let any of the other brothers' opinions hold sway.

He made an exasperated noise that might have been a sigh or even a groan of frustration. "Ivar doesn't command here. He has seen you train only a few times. Bloodlust and attraction cloud his head. You will be safer at the back. Then you'll see how your leg holds up and whether you want to be in a shield wall at all."

"All right," she conceded because this was a fight she could not win and Ubbe was not wrong. She knew he wasn't deliberately trying to tear her down. He was worried about her and though it was infuriating, it was also a small bit nice.

"All right? No arguments from Dagny the mule?" He grinned and even in the dark of the forest and the rain, it was bright.

She laughed. "Another girl might be offended by that."

"Then I am fortunate you are not another girl." She wanted to ask him about Margrethe or tell him what the seer told her but what good would it do? She hadn't heeded the advice the seer had given her. She'd come on the raid anyway, without any real thought given to why she should have stayed home.

The battle would happen on a hilly field where the terrain would help disguise their larger forces. The army would be broken into groups, some led by Harald, some by Floki, and some by Bjorn. Everyone seemed to think it would be an easy victory so she did not heed Ubbe's advice. She stood to the front of Bjorn's contingent, just a few feet behind the brothers and Ivar's war chariot.

Across the clearing, the king had not fielded a fraction of the number the great army boasted. She could just make out the red and gold of their flags and Aelle himself, not the grand image of an English king that Dagny imagined he might be. Though the Saxons were mounted, the horses would not make much difference once the fighting began and they were overwhelmed. Suddenly, a war cry went out. Sigurd banged two axes together, shrieking. Ubbe and Hvitserk unsheathed their swords and yelled. She raised her sword and joined them until the cries of battle were all she knew. She had not truly known Ragnar but she'd loved him all the same and vengeance was due.

No one would sing songs or compose poems in honor of this extremely one-sided battle. Many of the English turned tail and ran before it started. Bjorn gave the signal and Dagny took off running with the other raiders past Ivar's chariot. It was remarkably easy as the Saxons were disheartened and so their guards were down. She tried to focus and block out the noise, the screams, the howls, metal against metal, sword against shield. This was what Ubbe had trained her to do. It was sometimes the difference between life and death.

Finally an English soldier turned his attention to her. Dagny flipped her sword's hilt in her hand and slammed her yellow shield into him. It knocked him flat on the ground. The kill was suddenly stolen from her by Sigurd, who smirked as he slit the Saxon's throat and blood splattered onto her face. "You need to be quicker if you want to beat me, Dagny!" he yelled, chest heaving, and turned to another Saxon, who was cut down in short order by his axe.

It seemed like it was over in the next instant. The battle, in total, could not have lasted longer than a few minutes. She wiped her eyes once and saw the grassy field stained red and covered in bodies. None of them looked to be members of the great army. To her left, Ubbe was pulling his sword from the stomach of a Saxon with poor armor. His face was covered in dirt and streaks of blood. He turned to her and cocked his head. She nodded back since she was all right. She was not even unnerved. Lagertha's raid on Kattegat had been bloodier than this.

Ivar called her name and she made her way to his chariot. Aelle was on the ground next to it, being looked over by Bjorn. Ivar pulled his helmet off and though she was filthy and covered in mud, he looked on her with desire. He took her by the back of the head and kissed her roughly. All she could taste was dirt and blood but there was something about it she liked.

The English king Aelle was an older man, perhaps old enough to remember Ragnar's first raid on Lindisfarne all those years ago. It did not spare him from Ivar's wrath. His armor was torn from him, his hands were bound, and his feet were tied to Ivar's chariot. He was made to give up the location of Ragnar's death and even though she couldn't understand him, Dagny heard his voice crack. He did not give off the sense of authority or regality that Ragnar had. That Ivar possessed now. If he had, perhaps he would not have been dragged deep into Northumbria's primeval forest behind his enemy's horse.

Dagny rode in the chariot at Ivar's insistence. She stood to his side and never once looked back, though the trees were echoing with victorious battle cries from the raiders and the wretched moans of Aelle. She did not want to feel sorry for him. Ivar's hand snaked around her waist and he looked up at her once, smirking. It was indeed an occasion to smile.

Once in the clearing, Dagny cut the rope binding Aelle's ankles to the chariot. The rope was stained with blood. He looked up at her and there was an expression in his eyes that she knew to be fear. He was covered in mud, his hair was a tangle of weeds, and despite it all, Dagny did pity him.

The old king was made to stand and point out the place of Ragnar's death after Bjorn barked at him in English. Aelle was shaking as he nodded toward the covered pit. Ubbe and Hvitserk pulled the coverings back, detritus and dead leaves stirring into the air, falling into the hole. Ivar's horse gave a snort and pawed the ground, anxious. Dagny rubbed its neck so it wouldn't run off but she felt much the same. This was a cursed place.

Many of the warriors gathered around and looked down into the pit, even though Aelle was pleading and repeating over and over that there were no snakes inside, that the body had been removed. Dagny had no desire to see what Ragnar's last moments were like, to know what he felt, because surely he'd been tortured long before the Saxons dragged him into these woods. She felt a cold that wasn't from the heavy rain sneaking beneath her armor, soaking her long hair.

Sigurd had an axe to the king's throat beside her. Aelle's labored breathing was suddenly the only sound aside from the rain.

"This is where our father was killed," Ivar said, on the ground next to Ubbe.

Aelle began babbling in English and Dagny only caught words here and there. "Gold" she knew as well as "silver" and at the end, she thought he might be saying, "Anything!" He was begging for his life. Ivar turned his head and she hoped he never looked at her the way he was looking at the king. He replied in English and it was chilling, if only because his tone never changed.

Dagny didn't need to know what he said to understand it. It was partly the reason why they'd brought Aelle into the forest to begin with. He was to pay for Ragnar's death with his own.

Night fell quickly but the rain did not stop. Torches and fires were lit. A sacrificial stand was made for the blood eagle of the king. Dagny stood back with the other warriors while the princes held Aelle down. Floki hammered nails through his hands and all the while, Aelle groaned and screamed.

Bjorn was to conduct the ceremony. He tore the back of the king's tattered tunic and pulled a knife from the fire. Its blade glowed red. This would not be the legendary blood eagle given to Jarl Borg, which felt respectful and sad even in the stories. This would be cruel. There were no rules, not as there had been for Jarl Borg. This was intended to be painful. It was meant to be terrible to behold.

Hvitserk stood in front of her and Dagny was grateful for that when Bjorn put the knife into Aelle's back. She'd seen blood all her life but this felt different. The old king let loose a scream that raised the hair on her arms. The eldest Ragnarsson dragged the blade down his spine and he continued to yell. She thought they could hear Aelle dying back in Kattegat.

Ubbe stepped forward and handed Bjorn his axe. When Bjorn brought that down on Aelle's ribcage, the screams only got louder but they did not cover the sound of bones breaking and the inevitable wheezing of the king's breath. He was already giving out and Dagny wondered if he was praying to his god for death.

Ivar crawled forward to watch the man who killed his father die. There was poetry in it, Dagny thought, even though it seemed mad. Ivar was strange in that way. Things that other men would shy away from, he was always willing to do.

When the blood eagle was finished, they hung his body in the forest, overlooking the old pit of serpents. Aelle was dead.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey! Hope you're all doing well! I'm so sorry for the lack of updates the past couple of months! I've gotten a little part-time job that just seems to run me ragged and then my state was hit with a couple of hurricanes. Both of them knocked out my power for a couple of days! Then, of course, there was this drama with the spam reviews and the virus here on FFN. I'm unsure if they've gotten that fixed? If they haven't, and you are unaware of what I'm talking about, there's some sort of virus affecting user profiles and if you visit an infected profile while logged in to your FFN account, it can jump onto your profile and gain some information (such as your email, etc.). I have no idea if this is something they've gotten around to fixing yet (or if they've bothered to get rid of the spam reviews and such). Hopefully they will soon, if they haven't already! Anyways, thank you so much for your patience! This is a battle heavy chapter and I do so love a good fight scene. I decided to cut it here because it was becoming a bit long. Please do review and let me know what you're thinking! Hope you're all having a great week!**

Dagny took a bristle brush to her mail shirt. It was stained the dirty copper of dried blood, luckily not her own. Normally a boring a job, it was a reprieve to her since she spent much of her waking hours sewing gashes together and splinting broken bones. For a short and easy victory, many raiders had managed to get wounded.

"It had to be done," said Halfdan beside her. He was using a knife to clean beneath his fingernails and was speaking of how his brother had murdered an earl. The man's only misfortune had been to marry the woman Harald Finehair claimed to love. It had, at least, been a fairly clean kill. There were worse ways to die than an axe to the head.

"Yes, she'll certainly marry him now," Dagny replied sarcastically, rubbing her thumb over a particularly difficult spot. Still, she decided not to voice her disapproval. No one appeared to view the murder as especially strange and besides, she did not care to earn Harald and Halfdan's ire. They seemed to like her, if only because of Ivar, and she craved the friendship.

"Really?" Halfdan raised an eyebrow when she looked over at him.

"No!" He chuckled and she found it more eerie than innocuous.

"How am I to know that that wasn't how Ivar won your favor?" he asked, as if they were sharing an inside joke, and Dagny forced a laugh.

"You know very little about women," she responded.

"I know more than my brother." She did not doubt that was true. She liked Harald for his hidden softness but rather than show vulnerability and embrace feeling something in a way that made sense, he would barrel in and kill a man to get back at a woman that likely had never wanted to marry him at all. "I'm going to look for something to eat. Do you want anything?"

Halfdan was standing now and looking down at her expectantly. It was difficult to believe that she'd once found him terrifying. "No," she replied, still running the rough brush across the mail. "Thank you."

He cocked an eyebrow at that, like he was one of those beings of the forest who might later hold that gratitude over you, but he reached over and tousled her loose hair before walking away. It was something he might do to a younger sister. Dagny tried to battle the warmth in her chest, the thought that she was becoming friends with someone aside from Ragnar's sons, someone who likely never took notice of her when she was a slave. It was strangely emotional.

Around her, the camp was bustling. It was overrun with warriors sharpening blades for the battle they all felt was coming, mending armor and mail, eating while there was food to be had. At a distance, she saw Floki's tent. Helga and Tanaruz were standing beside it, Helga absentmindedly stroking Tanaruz's hair. They did not belong on this raid. The poor girl was eyeing the forest now, weighing her chances against the boars and wolves that no doubt stalked the woods.

Sigurd was at the next tent over, helping wrap a raider's upper arm wound. Dagny could see, even at a distance, that it was riddled with infection and would possibly need to be amputated. But Sigurd was wrapping it tightly and strangely enough, smiling while doing it. He was easily the best help she'd had healing. He was focused, not easily ruffled by chaos, and he had the steadiest hands she'd ever seen. It pained her to think, even to herself, that he was better at stitching a gash than she was.

"I am shocked to see you in the company of Halfdan," Ubbe said, startling her and throwing his leg over the bench she was sitting on. She hadn't even heard him approach. "When we were children, you used to run in fear of him and Harald. You'd hide in the kitchens and refuse to serve them."

"I do not tell embarrassing stories of you when you were younger," she replied, mail shirt forgotten.

"Because there are none," he responded, grinning. For a moment, Dagny remembered the day after Lagertha's attack on Kattegat, when the sun had cut through the trees and made Ubbe look like a forest king.

"What news of the Saxons?" she asked, to tear the image away from her.

He said they were less than a day's ride away, that there was a large army led by King Ecbert's son. Prince Aethelwulf wanted revenge for the death of Aelle and to protect his own father. To a certain point, Dagny wanted the same. Ecbert seemed a man of cunning and he would have had to be for Ragnar to respect him. But Ivar could think only of killing him too, of blood-eagling him in the same manner as Aelle. Still, she believed Ecbert deserved better, if he was to die at all.

Battle could not be avoided and indeed, it would be necessary in order to push past Aethelwulf's forces into Wessex. The camp had been made quickly a few hours before while Bjorn and Ivar rode off to inspect the battlefield. Since their return, there had been nothing but animosity between them. She and Floki had sat to the side while the brothers argued about all manner of things. Ivar believed the Saxons to be weak. Bjorn and Ubbe disagreed. Sigurd thought Ivar knew nothing, since he'd fought so few battles. Ivar threw back that Sigurd hadn't fought any more than he had. All of it culminated in Ivar declaring himself Ragnar's true heir and that he understood how difficult it must be for the other sons to know that their crippled younger brother was their father's favorite. Dagny didn't need to see the future to know that once Ragnar's death was avenged, much of the army would fall apart.

"Then there isn't much time to prepare," she said, knowing they would likely fight the Saxon forces tomorrow. The mail in her lap suddenly felt even heavier.

"And even less to fight over petty things," he responded and nodded towards Bjorn and Ivar, who were now making their way through the camp. In the mist that seemed constant in England, they did not look like brothers or friends. They appeared to be adversaries. "Ivar should back down. He is the youngest of us so why should he lead or make the decisions? There should be discussion between us all, with Bjorn taking charge." Dagny thought of asking how he believed any discussion could take place with this hostility between them but he was looking at her, almost pleading, and she understood.

"Why should I tell him that when he is the one coming up with the best ideas?" Ubbe shook his head in response.

"Because, Dagny, he is young. He is impetuous. He is emotional. Whatever he has in cleverness, he lacks in subtlety. But he listens to you and you could counsel him to be more cautious and less argumentative with Bjorn."

"But it's a good plan, to stretch out the fighting, confuse them, tire them out before finishing them off in a place of our choosing." It was a strategy that Ivar had been cultivating since they arrived on English soil and it would work no matter where the battle took place. Dagny thought it was rather brilliant. She could agree that the arguing was childish and got them nowhere but Ivar knew ways for the army to be successful. It did the brothers no credit to dismiss them out of hand simply because they came from someone young and inexperienced.

"And do you believe what he said? That he is the true heir to my father?" There was a weight in Ubbe's gaze that wasn't normally there. If she answered that she'd told Ivar that time and again, it would wound him, maybe even cause a rift. But she did believe it and Ubbe would know if she lied.

"He says those things for you to grow to respect him." Ubbe cocked his head to the side, his question still unanswered. Dagny let out a sigh. "I see Ragnar in all of you but don't you think there is some merit to the thought that he chose Ivar to go with him?"

"He only went to Ivar because the rest of us declined." To her mind, he couldn't rightly complain about that. If he wanted to be favored, perhaps he should have gone when Ragnar asked. But Ubbe and the others thought little of their father until he was gone. They disdained him for what happened to the English settlement, for abandoning them for ten years, and those were valid complaints. It made Dagny think Ragnar knew that everyone but Ivar would refuse, as Ivar was always looking for a way to prove himself.

"I don't want to fight with you," she said.

"We aren't fighting," he replied and smiled the smile that had one him many a girl's heart. _But we may one day,_ Dagny thought, and she dreaded it.

* * *

Ivar's lips were icy against her collarbone and the line of her jaw. The rain hissed as it hit the ground outside. She could see the mist below the flaps of the tent. There was a fog over the hills that could only be the consequence of the cold. She sat back and Ivar leaned up to meet her, a chill settling into her bones.

He wound a strand of her half-braided hair around his fingers. His free hand crept along the neck of her dressing gown. Ivar was not a summer lover. He came into his own when dark fell early, as the clouds became low and gray.

She thought of speaking to him about the battle or the things Ubbe said but his mouth was back against hers and those thoughts fell away. Tomorrow she may die and she would rather think of this than spiteful arguments and rivalry.

Ivar was letting her dressing gown fall to her waist when the tent came open. A rush of cold kissed her bare skin and Ivar suddenly sat up, his arm going around her back protectively. Dagny turned her head to see Sigurd in the doorway, mist and rain coming in around him. It strangely suited him.

Sigurd groaned in disgust. "You both make me sick," he said.

"Take your frustrations out on someone else, Sigurd," Dagny replied before Ivar could say something that might make everything worse. But Sigurd did not seem to really be looking at her. He was staring at Ivar, a strange look in his eyes that Dagny would not soon forget. Finally, he dragged his gaze down Dagny's bare back, less because he wanted to than that he aimed to anger Ivar. She felt Sigurd's eyes on her the same way she felt Ivar's arm against her back, his fingers curling with rage. It was physical.

"Leave before I make you," Ivar hissed. Sigurd only laughed and Dagny shivered, something she couldn't rightly put down to the cold of the night. Ivar clenched his jaw in response and pulled her closer. A warmth spread in her chest at that.

"You can't make me do anything," Sigurd declared but left anyway. When the flap to the tent closed, Dagny collapsed beside Ivar, her pale gown twisted about her chest and legs. Her heart was pounding, half because of something she didn't understand, half because Ivar had acted protective and she didn't realize how much she would enjoy it.

"The next time he looks on you," Ivar murmured, "I will take his eyes." She smiled in response, despite herself. Because something about it had actually unnerved her. It couldn't be modesty. Being a slave cured you of that quickly. But there had been something to it that Dagny distinctly did not like.

"Why don't you both put this vindictive enmity behind you?" she asked. He looked down at her, pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and kissed her throat again.

"Because," he said, mouth against her skin, "then he will think he is right. He will believe he can get away with his cruelty and he will, if I let him."

"It does neither of you any good. It is poison." She leaned back, her hand on his jaw, and he was looking at her like he never did in public. It was sweet, kind, vulnerable. As if Dagny was a thing of wonder and worth studying in depth.

"The gods knew when they placed Sigurd and I together that we would fight forever."

"But you don't have to. You could have a conversation and put this to rest. Talk about your mother, about Harbard, about… anything." When pressed, Dagny actually could not think of the root of their issues. Was it truly Aslaug? Was it Sigurd seeing through Harbard? Was it resentment over favoritism with their parents? Frankly, she did not know.

Ivar rolled his eyes and laid down beside her. His skin was so warm she almost feared he had a fever. "You have heard Sigurd speak to me the length of our lives. He will never see me for what I am and he will never respect me."

"When we win this battle tomorrow because of you, he will." That wasn't true, she felt, but she said it anyway, out of duty, out of wanting to please him, out of wanting to get Ubbe's imploring face out of her mind.

Ivar's full mouth widened in a grin. To someone else, it might have been frightening but Dagny adored his wolfish smile and the keening laugh that often accompanied it. He wore it on the battlefield and now, he wore it in bed.

* * *

Dagny's hair was braided tightly to her scalp on one side and hung loose on the other. Her eyes were dark with kohl, her shield was on her arm, and the belt at her waist carried a trusted short sword. The Saxons were bringing a formidable force before them and she would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. But she was at Sigurd's side so she found herself wanting to be falsely confident, if only to needle him. Luckily, he'd said nothing on the march to the battlefield and he wasn't close enough to see the sweat coating her palms.

"So," he started, as the field was coming into sight. They would have to climb a hill for full view of it, for Ivar's plan to be enacted by the Saxon army spotting them as they split apart. She groaned. It was a _very_ steep hill.

"So," she replied, going through the battle plan in her head. Split into two when the Saxons advance, head into the trees, wait for the Saxons to be corralled to the edge of the forest, pelt them with arrows. It eased her nerves. It also made the embarrassment of Sigurd almost seeing her naked dim in comparison to what lay before them.

"How is your leg? Are you sure you can climb?" He jerked his chin to the upcoming knoll that might have better been termed a mountain, in Dagny's opinion.

"Don't say that too loudly," she hissed back and looked over her shoulder at Ubbe. He was speaking with Hvitserk and neither one of them was paying she and Sigurd any mind. At least the day was starting out well. "Ubbe will push me back to the flanks or worse, to camp, to hide with Helga and the others."

Sigurd scoffed. "Oh, he can't do that now, though I'm sure he's never stopped making the argument. You know, Hvitserk didn't want you here either."

"Sigurd, I am trying to focus on things that are of importance, not your irrelevant intimidation." The battle plan flashed through her head again, making her forget the ache in her calf from the marching and the wet and the cold. Making her forget Sigurd's eyes like ice on the skin of her spine, the exquisite way Ivar had pulled her to him. If she took that into battle, she would falter with sentiment.

"I just thought I would offer to carry something for you." He tipped his chin to his chest, in a self-deprecating manner, and Dagny was pulled from her anxious thoughts.

"Is this your idea of an apology?"

He shrugged and it was genuine. "You did not deserve it. Though you'll be caught between me and Ivar for a long time, if you stay with him. It is something that will never end." The wind howled across the grass and it crept beneath Dagny's breastplate and tunic to run over her skin. She felt blood on her hands, she suddenly saw it bloom on Sigurd's chest, running red over the mail that covered him. It took everything in her not to grip his arm, not to say that a sickening feeling had taken root in her gut. But Sigurd did not believe in signs or what some might even call witchery. If he did, it was only that he thought something was to be gained in the manipulation. If she told him about this, he would malign her, just as he had Aslaug.

"We don't have the time to dwell on your rivalry with Ivar. We need to focus on what's in front of us, of watching each other's backs." Normally she might say this because she honestly did not trust Sigurd the way she would Ubbe. But now she could only think that the battle would kill him, that she would look up in the midst of fighting to see Aethelwulf running him through. And it made a strange sort of sense. It would be a pitiful dream to believe everyone would live. Some men called in their sleep for Valhalla but Dagny had never seen the use in looking forward to death.

"Don't worry, Dagny. I've promised my brothers that I will look out for you," he said with a smirk. It was something that finally cast him into the same light as Ragnar. It made him appear charming and enigmatic, mischief simmering below the surface. She thought of that expression wiped clean, of his skin losing its color, of a makeshift ship burial. She went cold thinking of it.

Finally they crested the hill and she was forced to push the worry for Sigurd aside. Mist rolled in over the hills, which were a green that almost seemed unnatural. Once more, Dagny thought of how she loved England, even with its cover of clouds and fog.

The Saxons were across the field. She let out a ragged breath, her breastplate suddenly seeming too tight. They had a large army. Not as great as the forces they were fielding but numerous enough for this to be a much larger battle than the skirmish against Aelle's forces had been. She turned her head and saw Ivar much farther down the line with Floki. He was grinning, evidently pleased that the Saxons were intimidated enough to enlist a vast amount of warriors.

Even at this great distance, separated by hills and immense fog, she saw the Saxon leaders. Aethelwulf did not wear a crown but then, he did not need to. He was the point their army was focused on. Dagny heard he had sons but if they were on the field, they were not at his side.

At the battle against Aelle, there had been war cries, screams that sent chills along your arms. Here there was nothing but silence. Nothing until Ivar, riding in a chariot as a king in his own right, turned and gave them a nod. The great army split in two. Sigurd was already smiling beside her, high on a victory they had not yet gained. Dagny wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. She wanted to make sure that he stayed in her line of sight the entire time. But that would be impossible and there was no guarantee that she was skilled enough to save him, if that's what it came to.

She looked back over her shoulder as they descended the hill towards the forest line. The Saxons were confused. The men they had mounted were riding back and forth in front of their lines, undecided on which group to follow. Finally, they did precisely what Ivar had hoped they would do and entered the opening left by the splitting army. Despite her worry and her fear, Dagny smiled. After this day, Ivar would no longer be someone others just indulged. His advice would be sought after and he would be viewed as a leader.

She and Sigurd ducked beneath a low hanging branch and entered the dark forest at the edge of the field. Dagny immediately felt more comfortable. There had always been something about a wood that put her at ease. Still, even in a place where she felt at home, she could not forget the thought of Sigurd run through, his blood on her hands. But the entire morning, all she had been doing was mulling over the battle plan. She'd spent the majority of the night before, staring at the tent's folds above her, thinking of the battlefield and what would happen if the Saxons did not do as predicted. She wasn't well-rested. In fact, she couldn't even consider herself as being in her right mind. She had hallucinated. Things like that happened all the time when anxiety consumed you. She knew that. She was a healer. And only thinking of what might happen to Sigurd would be dangerous for her.

The path opened up before them and Hvitserk and Sigurd took off at a run, both of them grinning. Others began to sprint over the path and the underbrush. It was miraculous that they kept quiet. Through the trees, she could see the Saxon forces being pushed to the forest's edge by Floki's group.

Ubbe was suddenly beside her, looking more a prince than a warrior. "Are you all right?" he asked lowly, concern evident in the set of his jaw. "You seem pale."

Dagny didn't know how to respond. What would he say if she told him she saw things? Or even that she was simply scared of how the battle might go? Anything at all would be a sign to him that she should not go on raid. But his head was cocked to the side and she knew it was genuine worry that made him ask. Regardless of wanting to be taken seriously and not be watched over like a child with their first weapon, it still felt nice to be cared about.

"I'll be fine," she replied and made herself smile. "I will race you."

Ubbe, though still looking strangely concerned, asked, "What will I get if I win?"

She laughed and began to run. The wind lifted her hair and made the shield on her arm not seem quite so heavy. She rushed over the shrubs and undergrowth of the forest, the only sound she could make out being the creaking of the old trees. She arrived beside Sigurd at the tree-line, lungs aching and chest heaving. Ubbe came to her other side, smiling like he'd let her win. Most likely, he had.

Bjorn moved to the forefront, remarkably quiet for such a large man, and took up his bow. Everyone crowded around him, some crouching lower while others stretched themselves tall. Dagny drew her own bow, the fletching of an arrow kissing her cheek. She was cramped between Ubbe and Hvitserk and had to strain to catch a glimpse of Sigurd, who didn't appear worried in the least. This was irrational and worse, it could become a danger to her wellbeing if she didn't stop focusing on it. There was no reason to think that what she saw was anything other than a symptom of not sleeping.

The Saxons were moving into their line of sight, up a slope onto the field. The trees kept them so well covered that the English soldiers were taken totally by surprise when Bjorn loosed the first arrow.

Dagny's initial shot found its mark in the soft spot of a Saxon's armor at the neck. He dropped to his knees before falling facedown. In that time, Dagny had shot off two more arrows, one taking a Saxon in the knee, the other in the shoulder.

Beside her, Ubbe fired an arrow without even watching the field. Dagny saw the man it hit, heard him groan. Ubbe smirked and did it again, looking at her instead of the Saxons. She rolled her eyes and loosed another arrow.

The Saxons called for a shield wall. Dagny began to smile at this. It made archery far more intense to focus on the small holes in the wall or their uncovered shins. To her left, Hvitserk immediately angled his bow to the side and aimed for their legs. Dagny followed suit. Even with the added difficulty of trying to find a split between their shields, many of the English warriors still fell to their arrows.

When Bjorn raised his arm, they stopped firing and retreated back into the trees, leaving the Saxons still in a shield wall. They would be fools to follow the great army into the wood, where they felt much more comfortable than the Saxon forces.

Dagny was running again, this time easily keeping up with Hvitserk. He was in his element. Of all the brothers, he was the one who seemed to be enjoying this the most and something about it put Dagny at ease. It erased the fear that something would befall Sigurd or that Ubbe was too busy looking out for her to help himself.

A horn sounded four times—Floki sending them the last signal. The Saxons would be following Floki and Ivar's forces now, leaving enough time for Bjorn's to take their places along the road to Repton. This would be the ultimate test for Ivar's plan. If the Saxons did indeed make the decision to go after the ships, he would be hailed as a strategic genius. Dagny thought that everything else had gone according to plan, so why should this be any different?

She was out of breath when they arrived at the hills surrounding the path back to Repton. Her fingers curled around the neck of her breastplate and pulled it away from her throat. Hvitserk was beside her again and he raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded back that she was all right. If her old leg wound did not ache, she would be exhilarated, excited even, because adrenaline was starting to kick in.

They waited for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time before the Saxons began their march down the road. For a moment, Dagny tilted her head back and looked at the sky above, the sun failing to break through the gray clouds. Ivar was right. He'd read the situation and the land they would fight on and bet on the correct course of action. In some ways, even she could not believe how lucky that was. When they entered Wessex, he would be admired by men who'd never thought much of him, by people who once thought his parents should have left him in the forest as a baby to die. When Ecbert, the last vestige of another time, was gone, a new age would be born. Dagny did not see Bjorn heralding it in or any of the other brothers. It would be Ivar's time.

Sigurd was drawing his bow down the line and it dragged her back to the moment, to the nervous silence that was only interrupted by the Saxon horses snorting in the morning air. Dagny nocked an arrow and let it follow Aethelwulf. At least, she assumed it was the Saxon king at the head of their army. Nothing distinguished him from his men and in many ways, she found that admirable.

Bjorn whistled and Dagny let her arrow fly into a man flanking the king, unsure of why she didn't take the clear shot at Aethelwulf himself. He turned, his horse pawing the ground anxiously, and looked up into the hills. To see his eyes widen in shock was a genuine pleasure. The encouragement it gave her, that they might win this more easily than she initially thought, pushed away all worries that had been plaguing her.

More arrows flew and the Saxons eventually began to retreat. This was the goal; to corral them onto a battlefield of the great army's choosing. They relinquished their bows and followed the Saxons, many of the raiders screaming and yelling, beating on their shields with newly drawn weapons. Dagny found herself doing it alongside Sigurd and Hvitserk.

Some of Floki and Ivar's men joined them, their army now easily a rival to the Saxon forces. Across the field, Dagny imagined chills crawling up Aethelwulf's spine as he heard their battle cries, as he realized just how much of a challenge this would be.

"Shield wall!" Bjorn yelled and raised his shield before him. Dagny and the other brothers mirrored him, her shield interlocking with Hvitserk's and Sigurd's. She looked to Sigurd for a bare moment and he gave her a nod. She took in a breath that felt more like a wheeze, bile churning in her stomach, and turned to Hvitserk. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a secret smile. Though her pulse was racing and she felt vaguely sick, she knew she couldn't be in a safer place. If you did not trust who was beside you in the shield wall, you had nothing. Sigurd could be an unknown but she'd trained with him for months on end. She knew how he moved, what weapons he favored, even the way he carried his shield. And she had been comfortable with Hvitserk for as long as she could remember. He may not know the way she fought but he knew her and that was just as important.

Dagny angled her shield to give her just enough space to see the Saxons running towards them. Aethelwulf gave a battle cry and raised his blade. She rolled her shield to close the gap and drew her short sword.

In the next instant, their foot soldiers hit the wall. The sound and the force of it was overbearing. Shock reverberated down Dagny's shield arm and she grit her teeth so hard, her jaw began to ache. She pushed back, trying not to yell or break the wall. Perhaps she had thrown that soldier back but another readily took his place. The weight on her arm was constant, to the point that she felt she was holding off the entire Saxon army. Sweat fell from her brow, blurring her vision. A Saxon sword found its way through a gap in the wall, its blade running against the mail of her arm and Hvitserk's. Through her teeth, she let out a shriek and pushed her shield against the Saxon with all of her might. Hvitserk gave a short nod and their shields parted, just enough for him to stab his blade into the enemy soldier's throat. Blood coursed through the wood of the shields, even as they locked back together. The Saxon's body joined the others in front of the wall.

"Break!" someone commanded. Dagny assumed it was Bjorn but she couldn't be sure. When the shield wall broke, she, Hvitserk, and Sigurd would be among the first defenses. If they didn't work together, they'd be killed.

There was no more time to think. The wall came apart and Norse raiders immediately entangled with Saxons. Dagny lowered her shield arm, which was quivering so badly she wasn't sure she could fully extend it. A soldier screamed and advanced towards them. Sigurd was first in his line of vision. "Sigurd," she said, her voice a rasp, heart in her throat. As if anticipating that, he ducked beside her and she brought her sword up and across Saxon's vulnerable neck. He hit the ground unceremoniously, his blood splattering across Dagny's face and chest.

It was only the beginning. The Saxons were many and they spread out across the field in a swathe. It was one after another and very few of them seemed afraid, not in the manner that Ivar had spoken about yesterday. "All I see are people running away before us," he had said. "They are cowards." Nothing about these men implied that cowardice was even a word they knew.

Dagny's shield locked against a Saxon's. The man was her height and he met her eyes beneath his dark helm. She snarled, though her arm desperately wanted to give way, and his pupils widened. He jerked back and Dagny lifted her shield just in time to block a blow from his sword. He hacked at it until she feared it would splinter and finally, she dropped her sword hand low before bringing it up into his gut. His sword fell into the mud and he fell with it, though he wasn't dead. Her blade was just wedged into his armor and Dagny couldn't even be certain she'd broken his skin.

She pulled her sword free and brought it down on his throat.

Hvitserk was a few feet away, slashing at an enemy shield. The Saxon held a short blade in his hand, not anything that would be useful unless Hvitserk got close enough in range. But he was slowly getting within arm's length. She made her way to him, through the mud and the filth and the uncomfortable nearness of bodies. She pushed with her shield and the handle of her blade and finally, she was behind Hvitserk's Saxon. She sliced the tendons at the back of the man's legs and he let loose a scream that had Dagny's hair raising. It was cut short by a blow of Hvitserk's axe.

He was in the midst of giving her a nod of thanks when he exclaimed, "Down!" Dagny dropped to her knees, no thought given to questioning it. Above her, Hvitserk swung his axe. It caught a Saxon in that tender area where arm meets chest, a place armor rarely covers adequately. Hit at the right angle, it could be a fast death.

She was up quickly and immediately putting her sword out. She and Hvitserk turned their backs to each other and it was a clever thing because men were coming at them from all sides.

A Saxon slipped in the mud before her and Dagny took the end of her sword to his head, swiftly knocking him unconscious. Another soldier was on her just as quickly and her blade met his with a clang that it seemed remarkable to hear over the din of the battlefield. She was taller than this Saxon or perhaps, the mud had not favored him the way it had her. He still had his strength though and he managed to push her back until she was close to colliding with Hvitserk.

His blade moved down hers slowly, the scrape of their swords an audible thing. Her arms went numb with holding him back. Her feet slid in the mud until one leg was behind her and she was kneeling, groaning through gritted teeth. The Saxon was gaining strength and he was standing taller. He had no helm so she could clearly see his short hair, his hooded eyes, the lines of his face. He had some years on her, had perhaps been training to kill their people all his life, and his visage would be the last thing she saw before she died.

He had wrestled her into the mud before she realized what was happening and finally, the weight of his sword left hers. She let herself fall back onto the blood and rain-soaked ground and immediately took up her shield to block the killing blow she knew was coming. But it never landed. Taking gasping breaths, she tilted the shield to the side in time for the Saxon's body to land at her feet, like an offering laid before a queen. Ubbe was standing above it, arms spread wide, grinning in a battle-crazed way. His face was stained with gore and dirt but he was still every inch a prince.

Hvitserk pulled her to her feet and instantly pushed her behind him to take the force of a blow himself. Dagny again put her back to his and it was immensely steadying, to know he was right behind her, that he was aware of every move she made. Ubbe was still in her sightline, turning back and forth, knocking men down in quick succession. He had saved her life and when this was done, she would owe him again.

She knocked a warrior back with a push of her shield and brought her sword down upon the next one. It felt like this went on for hours, endlessly blocking blows and thrusting out her sword, hoping to be lucky. But finally, she scanned the field and caught sight of Sigurd.

A soldier was coming up behind him but he was too preoccupied with the warriors he could see in front. For a moment, she saw Sigurd's bloodstained mail, her hands colored red, his blue eyes turned glassy. She threw her shield away and ran to him, though it seemed that the sun had set and risen once more by the time she got to his side. She slammed into him, the same way he used to do to her when they were training, and he lost his footing. When he fell into the sludge, Dagny thrust her sword into the Saxon. It made a sickening sound, like water sloshing at the bottom of a well, and when his body slid off of it into the bloody mud, it took everything in her not to be sick.

Sigurd looked up at her from the ground, eyes wide and mouth open. "Did you just save my life?" he asked, out of breath.

She extended her hand to him and pulled him up. "I suppose I did."

They both turned at the sound of their remaining forces coming onto the field, headed by Floki and Ivar. It sparked an immediate reaction in the remaining Saxons and soon there were calls for retreat from their leaders. Many soldiers sprinted past them as if afraid they might take notice and kill them anyway. Sigurd yelled beside her and raised his dual axes in the air in triumph. She laughed, relieved, and suddenly he hugged her. It was over so quickly that Dagny wondered if it had even happened.

"You're not so bad, Dagny," he said and then continued to shout, shaking his axes in the air again. All around them, men were doing the same. She kept laughing because it seemed utterly preposterous for _Sigurd_ to be like this. She bent over and put her hands on her knees, suddenly extremely exhausted. She'd worried for nothing. The battle was over, they'd won, and Sigurd was in a better mood than usual.

Hvitserk reached her next and he pulled her up into his arms. Dagny began to smile, the sort that came from being tired and extremely pleased, and threw her head back to yell in victory with him. Her skin prickled with chills from the echoing cries of triumph.

He pulled away and ran with her to the line headed by Floki and Ivar. They maneuvered around fallen bodies and abandoned weapons to arrive before Ivar's chariot. He appeared tall, regal, and when he pulled off his helm, Dagny felt like she was staring into the sun. Her heart wanted to break free of her ribs. She wiped a hand across her face, suddenly self-conscious, and it came away dark with dirt and dried blood.

She was pulled from that thought when Ubbe rushed her. He pulled her off her feet and she let out a laugh. When he put her back down, she took him by the arm. He looked down expectantly, his light hair turned dark by grime, his face almost unrecognizable beneath a mask of muck and blood. "You saved my life today," she said, panting. "Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me," he replied, chest heaving. To him, it was just an aspect of the battlefield; something that was expected to happen and so gratitude wasn't required. But it still felt special to Dagny and she thought she'd never forget the sight of him standing over her.

She turned to see Hvitserk embracing Ivar, who was looking at her over his brother's shoulder. When she met his eyes, his full mouth widened in a smirk. The filth and the grime made no difference. When she climbed onto the chariot beside him, he kissed her, as he had the day they'd defeated Aelle. It was a thing for war, full of greed and possession and the taste of blood in your mouth. Dagny wanted it to never end.

The younger brothers were still screaming and clapping each other on the shoulder when Bjorn arrived. Dagny wiped her face again, feeling that impressing Bjorn was still of utmost importance. The power would shift significantly after today, everyone felt it, and Bjorn would be forgotten in favor of Ivar. In some ways, it seemed sad.

"What are you so happy about?" the eldest brother demanded. Everyone around the chariot seemed to pause. Dagny was in the middle of reaching for Hvitserk and slowly let her hand drop. "It is not over yet."

But it felt like it was over, the most difficult part, at least. Dagny looked to Sigurd, who was smiling like he'd been given something he'd always dreamed of. It still made no sense, that strange vision before the battle. Apparently, it was nothing more than a hallucination spurred by lack of sleep and stress. After all, Sigurd was fine, the battle was done, and it did not seem likely that there would be another for some time.

 **Thank you again for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and that you're looking forward to the new season as much as I am. Please let me know what you think! Thank you!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi! I hope you all are having a great week! Are you getting excited about the new season? I am! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I really enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think! Thank you.**

Wessex's capital was surrounded with high wooden walls and framed in the thick fog of morning, it seemed otherworldly. No sound came from behind those walls and Dagny wondered if there was an actual possibility that the Saxons had simply abandoned the city. After losing the battle at Repton, why wouldn't they want to retreat?

"It could be a trap," Bjorn said, up ahead of them. He was mounted on a large white horse and his braid hung long down his back.

Beside her, Hvitserk was smirking, his sword already drawn. The look on his face suggested he almost hoped it _was_ a trap, just so that there would be more fighting. Dagny didn't share his feelings. Repton was still fresh in her mind and she couldn't stop seeing the Saxon who'd almost killed her. His hair, his eyes, the set of his mouth in a snarl. His body at the feet of Ubbe. She would never admit it, never whisper so much as a breath of it to another raider, but when the adrenaline of battle finally wore off, she'd wondered if she was really made for war.

The gates to those grand walls opened before Ivar's chariot, as if they'd been made of feathers rather sturdy oak. She and Hvitserk headed in with the other raiders, bottlenecking through the gates. Once inside, the warriors ran freely through the courtyard and immediately into the outcrop of buildings. No one seemed to be in the city. Dagny had a chill and she couldn't justly say it was because of the threatening rain or the way the wind seemed to be harsher inside the walls. This place seemed immensely important, even abandoned as it was.

There were buildings of stone, so worn and weather-beaten that they could only be the work of the illustrious Romans. Dagny thought they must have been giants, like those from Jotunheim, to have built things that lasted this long. She didn't want the raiders to destroy them. Still, as she walked closer to one, a soldier tossed a bowl laden with jewelry that had been left behind into the street before her. It scattered the pieces into the dirt, necklaces, earrings, torques of gold. She was amazed that anyone would have left these behind.

There was a hand at her waist and despite herself, Dagny flinched. It was only Hvitserk and he'd done it to move around her and pick up a necklace that was anchored by a milky white stone set in gold. He smiled, so sweet that it seemed out of place, and laid it in her hand. Her hand that still bore the signs of dried blood, no matter how much she'd scrubbed at it after Repton. Plunder was the goal of a raid and she'd had no problem in Kattegat seeing the longships return loaded with riches from lands far away. But being here, standing before the great stone house and knowing the people who'd lived there must have fled in a hurry, made the glory taste of ash.

"I can't take this," she found herself saying, though a Viking would never refuse it. They would revel in taking it and everything else strewn on the ground. She regretted the words immediately because there was the thought that Hvitserk hadn't wanted her to come and it was likely because he believed she was too soft. Saying this could prove him right.

He folded her hands over the necklace, the flesh of her palm pressing onto the stone. " _You_ didn't take it. _I_ did and I'm giving it to you," he replied, still smiling as if Dagny's gentleness was the main reason he liked her. She looked down and rubbed her finger over the stone, clearing away the grime of the ground. It was beautiful and she'd rarely had jewelry of her own. She thought of herself young, wanting something that belonged to her and her alone.

"All right," she said and tucked the necklace into her belt, the pendant heavy against her leg. Hvitserk looked pleased but said nothing.

He pulled her through streets and alleys, all empty and quiet but for the yells of their own warriors. Finally, they arrived before the grandest building of all, the one Ivar said was the seat of their king. It was also obviously Roman work. The roof was the only part that didn't appear original. It was patched over, poorly in some areas, but it took away nothing of the grandness.

There was no one inside when Hvitserk pulled open the doors for them and led her in. Dagny had already been amazed by England and the ruins the Romans had left behind but being inside the Saxon palace was awe-inspiring. Everywhere was stone and mosaic and after wandering around for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, they stumbled upon a room at the center of the building; the bath house. She'd heard tell of such things but seeing it was entirely different. It was just a pool of perfectly warm water, framed by Roman mosaics that showed naked men and women being pursued by half-human, half-goat creatures. This room was the revelation. It was permanently fixed in Dagny's mind as proof of genius, as proof that England was something special.

Hvitserk appeared as enamored of it as Dagny felt. He walked to the edge of the pool and stared down, unsure of its depth. "Bjorn told me about this," he said, kneeling and running a finger across the top of the murky water.

"Perhaps, there are monsters in it," Dagny said. Hvitserk turned, still on his knees, and his lips formed a crooked smile. For a moment, she thought of his image in the tiles on the walls, on coins like king Ecbert's.

"Maybe I'll throw you in and we'll find out." She laughed and backed away when he came towards her, hands on her waist, her feet suddenly off the ground.

"You throw me in and I will take you with me," she replied, her fingers digging into his leather armor. Hvitserk met her eyes, his expression suddenly sinister and mischievous. Dagny wondered if this was what his enemies saw when he finally cornered them, when at last he found their hiding place and pulled away their cover.

They moved on from the bathing pool reluctantly, passing into other abandoned corridors and cellars below the fortress that had been emptied. There was the sound of glass breaking as they entered a new hallway and Hvitserk immediately stuck his arm in front of her.

Floki stumbled into the hall before them and Hvitserk gave a relieved sigh. But the silence was now over. At every turn, Dagny heard the cracking of fire, wood splintering, metal clattering onto the stone floors.

Dagny stepped into a room Floki's raiders had already gotten to and it seemed to her that she stopped breathing. She wasn't sure what the purpose of the chamber was supposed to be but there were shelves upon shelves of capped scrolls and immediately, she felt captivated by them. A warrior pulled one out beside her and it unfurled, its end nearing the man's knees. It was covered in furling script, nothing like the runes she'd seen before, and there was gold, blue, and red paint on each side.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, hand outstretched, but it was too late. The raider had already lit it on fire. The vellum disintegrated, the paints curling off the page. Her stomach churned, on the verge of being sick.

Across the room, a writing desk was split by an axe. Several had already been torn apart and pieces of splintered dark wood were being lit aflame in the corner. Dagny's lip curled. It was a disgrace. What was the point of destroying these things just because they were Saxon creations? There was value in learning about what was important to them, if only to understand them. At any rate, they had seen neither hide nor hair of anyone inside the city's walls. Perhaps they did not plan on returning and a fortress the great army could commandeer for their own, they were destroying. Dagny did not understand the point of ruin, of damage simply because they were the winning side. It was more than disappointing or horrifying. It was sad.

"Do you want the scrolls?" Hvitserk asked, moving past her. He pulled several from the shelves and piled them in her arms. He was grinning and it made her want to laugh in response and forget what the great army was doing to this old city. But it was all around her and so she could not just push it aside.

She made her way to the back of the open shelves, flinching as a row of writing desks were pushed onto the stone floor. Her face paled and her fingers tightened around the scrolls in her arms. On the other side of the shelves, Floki was offering a lighted torch to the roll of vellum in Hvitserk's hand.

"Wait," she said, placing a hand against Hvtiserk's shoulder. The scrolls wanted to crumple in her other arm.

"You can't carry these as well," he replied, like they were sharing a joke. Floki even grinned.

"I don't think they should be burned," she said. Hvitserk's brow rumpled.

"Why not?"

"You don't feel that they're important?"

"Why would they be?" Floki asked and threw a stack of scrolls onto a fire in the corridor. The flames flared and reflected in his eyes. For the first time since she'd arrived in England, she wondered if the seer was right and she should have stayed home. Battle was one thing. It was expected to be blood and gore and death and fighting in the mud until either you got lucky or your opponent did. But this… this was different and Dagny wanted no part in it.

In the end, she could only save what she could accurately carry and that was merely three scrolls. She couldn't decipher anything about them and of course, she couldn't read the words as she couldn't read at all. She was unsure if these writings were even of importance. Maybe when the Saxons evacuated, they took anything they valued with them and what they left was worthless. But they were so beautiful that Dagny knew they were special. She couldn't imagine the time spent on them, how long it must have taken to create the images in the side panels or to write the words. Maybe the scrolls meant nothing to everyone else but to Dagny, they were the greatest prize of the raid.

She followed Hvitserk and Floki along a dark hall and finally, there was a shut door. The rest of the palace was open, doors hanging wide, seeming to invite them in. This one was bolted shut. Floki set to prying it open, the head of his axe wedging beneath the lock, and it gave way. Hvitserk put his arm before her again as they peeked in the room.

There was a man inside. Dagny thought he must be one of those Christian priests that Ivar had told her about because he was dressed in a pure white robe. She knew how difficult it was to keep something like that pristine so she assumed he was well off enough to have a steady supply of them. Around his neck was a long embroidered piece of red fabric that was close to grazing the floor. In his outstretched hand was a solid gold cross, inlaid with stones of blue and green. She'd never seen anything like it.

The man had been murmuring under his breath when they came in but now he began to shout, gesturing at them wildly with the crucifix. Hvitserk pushed Dagny back, like the priest would ever be able to reach her, and ran him through with his sword. The golden cross clattered to the floor. Floki laughed and set the drapes aflame. She choked, her grip bending one of the rolls of vellum in her arms. It took time for the priest to die, time in which the corridor began to glow with fire. Blood started to run out of the priest's mouth while he was still muttering prayers to the Christian god, his immaculate white robe stained red. The heat of the fires and smoke suddenly made Dagny feel like she was losing her breath. At least she hoped it was that and not something as useless as sentiment. The priest very well may have intended to kill them but so far, he was the lone person in the city and to Dagny's mind, that meant he was brave.

Hvitserk pulled her back into the hallway after Floki, who was still laughing, a keening sound that echoed off the stone in a way that made Dagny's skin crawl. She looked back into the room for a moment and saw the priest's mouth had gone still. She hoped he'd been praying for death.

Beside her, Hvitserk tucked the crucifix into his belt so that it stuck out haphazardly. She thought of the piece of mirror that she always kept with her, something that he had no doubt taken from a place just like this. There was the idea that this was completely natural. Indeed, it was the goal of the raid and it would serve to dishearten other Saxons from attempting to fight or draw the ire of the great army. But Dagny could not shake the feeling that she was not made for this, not in the way that Hvitserk or Bjorn were.

She followed Hvitserk into the courtyard, past warriors pulling down English tapestries and throwing them onto fires, past men pulling drawers from chests and emptying the contents onto the floor to be ground beneath their feet, past bedding and furniture being tossed from windows to break into pieces outside. She had lost track of Floki in the commotion but she assumed he was still in the palace.

The gates to the city stood wide and Ivar's chariot was in the center of the yard. He was leaning on its side, chin on his crossed arms, watching the raiders loot. There was a light in his eyes that Dagny could see even at a distance. In spite of the cold the destruction inspired in her and the sense that she would become a disappointment to all of Ragnar's sons when they discovered it, she could feel nothing but pleasure when she saw Ivar triumphant. There was something in her that just burned away all worries and doubts when she laid eyes on him, something that made her believe she was doing the right thing.

The raiders fell silent and parted before Ivar's chariot. Dagny and Hvitserk followed suit, unsure of the reasoning. Ubbe was across the way and there was nothing in his belt to mirror Dagny's or Hvitserk's. There was no golden cross or moonstone necklace. There were certainly no scrolls. In some ways, he appeared out of place against the line of other raiders. He was not smirking and laughing but nor did he seem grim, on the lookout for trouble. It was a foolish thought that took root in Dagny at that moment but she almost wondered if the looting had turned his stomach as much as it had hers. Ubbe hadn't been on raid since the last time Ragnar went to Paris. He had been a child then and many things had changed in the years between.

Soon it became apparent that the way had been cleared for another Saxon who had remained behind. He was an older man with long bedraggled hair and he was clothed in a dressing robe. He wasn't wearing any shoes. For a moment, Dagny assumed that he and the priest must have been mad and the Saxons had just decided to leave them behind but as the man got closer, poked and prodded forward by spears and blunt swords, she knew he was important. Not even someone mad would be smiling at this situation and he was looking at Bjorn as if he was an old friend. Dagny sucked in a sharp breath. Hvitserk turned to her in alarm, worried.

"It's Ecbert," she murmured. Ecbert had remained in the city after all, fate accepted. She would never say as much to anyone who asked but she wished he had gone. There was vengeance in the death of Aelle and it had needed doing but Ecbert did not deserve the disgrace of the blood eagle.

The English king evidently understood his name being said even in another language and he turned to Dagny. She froze, her arms locked around the scrolls she was somehow still carrying. Bjorn raised a hand and the raiders released Ecbert. He moved toward her and it felt, to Dagny, that she wasn't even present. She seemed to be watching this exchange from afar.

The king touched the caps of the scrolls and she relinquished one, feeling it was the least she could do. But he did not seem angry that she was holding onto them or that she'd taken them in the first place. He unfurled it, exposing the glory of the paints and the pictures and the words.

Ivar looked on, eyes narrowed in anger. Dagny barely registered it.

Ecbert said something to her, eager, and returned the scroll to her. She tried to give it back, thinking that it belonged to him anyway but the king shook his head, wistful. He said something else, where she only understood a single word; "Athelstan."

"What did he say?" she asked, smiling to match the king, believing that this was something special.

"He said he admires women like you and my mother," said Bjorn, approaching. Ecbert grinned up at him, again like he was being reunited with his greatest friend. "And he said that scroll was painted and written by the monk, Athelstan."

"Athelstan?" she echoed, her sudden good mood not even able to be spoiled by a comparison to Lagertha. The king turned back for the briefest moment and nodded.

"This man is King Ecbert. I order you to spare him," Bjorn announced loudly, as several raiders still appeared ready to run him through. Dagny was grateful for that, more than she could say. Was this to be the legendary Ecbert's fate? Killed in the courtyard of his own city when he could have gone with his army instead? She was relieved that he would not be killed here and now.

Hvitserk raised an eyebrow at her as Ecbert was led away by Bjorn. Ivar was looking at them, rage threatening to boil over from within. "You like the old Saxon king?" Hvitserk asked, teasing.

"I respect him," she replied. And at the very least, she thought, Bjorn respected him too.

* * *

"I will count to three and then I will set it," Dagny said. Halfdan was lying on a Saxon table that was serving as a cot, looking up at her. He was doing his best not to appear in pain but sweat had broken out across his brow and he was wincing. Still, she was impressed by it. She'd seen grown men cry at dislocating a shoulder.

Harald was grinning on the other side of Halfdan, already anticipating what she was going to do.

"One," she said, placing one hand on his bicep and the other at his wrist. Halfdan nodded, wincing. "Two." She pushed his arm up and twisted until there was a loud pop. Halfdan let out a yell that would have curdled milk and Harald began laughing.

"You said you'd count to three," Halfdan moaned, rubbing his arm.

"It's better if you don't know when it's coming," she replied.

"I like you," Harald said, still chuckling, and clapped her on the shoulder. She tried to ignore how warm that made her feel. People seemed anxious around her now when before they'd never bothered to take notice of her. It was Ivar's doing. Men were scared of Ivar and there was the thought that now, they were wary of her as well. Harald and Halfdan were refreshing.

Across the yard, the pitiful Saxon church doors opened. Ubbe and Hvitserk stepped outside, talking heatedly. Dagny took a long look at the building, wondering how it was still standing after all it had been through. She'd yet to go inside more because she didn't want to see what the raiders had done to it than anything else. She wasn't superstitious about the place, not like some others. In fact, she assumed she would adore it the way she had everything else in the city.

"Do you know what have they decided to do about Ecbert?" she asked, wiping her hands clean with a rag. Halfdan managed a vague shrug before sitting up, a good sign that she'd managed to put his shoulder back in the socket correctly.

"Ivar wants to blood eagle him," Harald replied. She sighed in response. She'd expected that answer.

"Bjorn doesn't want that," Halfdan said. "And if he doesn't want it, then Hvitserk doesn't."

Harald rubbed the back of his neck. "The old king ruined the settlement here and he did sell Ragnar out to Aelle. He's done more than enough to warrant a blood eagle."

"Don't you think some of that was a trick? Ragnar struck me as wanting to die," she said.

Halfdan rubbed his aching shoulder. "Whatever it was, it's not our decision to make." That much, at least, was true.

Dagny told Halfdan not to use his shoulder much for the next few days and finally made her way to the cathedral. The brothers had all left. Ivar was back to sitting on his chariot and Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Bjorn crowded around him. Ubbe was the only one still outside the church, looking obviously conflicted.

"What decision was made?" she asked Ubbe when she reached him. The doors to the cathedral hung wide and she could see a cage hanging from the ceiling in the center of the nave. She grimaced when she realized Ecbert was in it, a sad sort of poetry in knowing Ragnar met his end from a similar cage.

Ubbe shrugged, his eyes focusing on some point far away. "You know what Ivar wants."

"Did he convince you all?" Dagny was secretly hoping he hadn't. She wanted Bjorn's cooler head to prevail. She didn't want Ecbert dead. What was the point when his much stronger son would inherit the throne and wish for vengeance the same way the sons of Ragnar had? It would become a cycle that would lock them in war with the Saxons forever.

"Not all. Sigurd agreed with him but Bjorn wants to think of our people. The king offered us land in East Anglia, in honor of what my father's dream used to be." At this, Ubbe appeared to feel bittersweet. They were coming to the end of avenging Ragnar. After dealing with Ecbert, it would be done.

"That's wonderful," she said, thinking that she loved England and Ragnar had as well. It seemed fitting that a settlement would mend all of those old wounds and possibly become Ragnar's legacy. He'd started life as a farmer. It felt right.

"I agree. I would like to farm here, as my father wanted." There was something in his voice that belied it wouldn't be that simple.

"But?" she prompted.

"But Ivar doesn't care about any of that. He only wants to continue raiding, keep hitting the Saxons again and again until they can no longer field an army."

"What is the point of that? To keep us exhausted and always on the run? This way there would be a permanent home and it would be exactly what Ragnar always wanted."

Ubbe wryly smiled. "Ivar believes you would agree with him so perhaps you should have been deliberating with us." Dagny was glad she hadn't been. She didn't think Ivar would be angry at her disagreeing with him but she doubted it would be a pleasant experience anyway.

"You are his older brother. You should be the one telling him what to do," she replied and laughed only a little. The thought of anyone having the ability to tell Ivar what to do now seemed utterly preposterous. The army respected him and she could see that most of the men believed that it was Ivar and Ivar alone who was responsible for the victory at Repton. They were not wrong.

"Well, I think he'll support taking the land." But Ubbe sounded unsure and Dagny again felt a creeping unease. The seer had warned her to stay home if she wanted to save her friendship with Ubbe. Only now, after seeing the looting and destruction and this ominous feeling in her gut, did she think the seer could have been right. "Why did you take those scrolls?" he asked suddenly.

"I just didn't want to see them burn," she murmured, wondering why she was being so honest about it. "It made me sick to watch that room be wrecked. I wish I could have saved more but I could only hold three. Maybe you were right and I am not made for this."

Ubbe turned and though it was overcast and cold, he looked like a summer king. "There's no reason to be ashamed of that. There is a large difference between battle and conquest. In truth, I don't have much stomach for it either."

"It's a shame," she said, melancholy. "The city was beautiful and now it is cinders."

"When Ecbert is dead, this will be over. You can work the land in East Anglia if you so choose. You can go home. You don't have to do it ever again."

"And what of you?" Ubbe appeared to ponder his answer but he said nothing. A chill passed over her that echoed the one she'd felt under the lake all those months ago. Something was indeed reaching its end and she hoped it wasn't the age of her friendship with Ubbe.

* * *

The nave of the cathedral was dark. Barely any light made its way through the colored glass window in front of her. But somehow, Dagny thought it only lent the place more beauty. There were columns with ornate detail on either side of her and wrecked tables and pews were littered about the floor. Yesterday it had probably been a radiant, safe place. Now it was ruin.

Above her was King Ecbert, suspended in a cage. She understood the reasoning for it. She even understood the desire to see Ecbert pay for what had happened to the old settlement and for sending Ragnar to his death, whether he'd meant to or not. But this still felt wrong. No one deserved what Ecbert had been forced to endure, particularly at his age.

Dagny kicked one of the few benches that were still in one piece to right below the cage. Ecbert stirred at the noise and at once, she felt awful. It could be the last time the king was afforded sleep, even if it wasn't decent. She climbed onto the bench and brought out a glass vial. She waved it until it captured Ecbert's attention.

"What is that?" the old king asked. Dagny raised a brow. "I know some of your language."

"It's for the pain," she said. He smiled, wistful, and took it from her. His hand was cold.

"Is it poison?"

"Would you rather that's what it was?" It had never occurred to Dagny to do something like that. People would know she did it, if they suspected poison was involved. But there were draughts that had no trace. It would be just like someone died peacefully and at Ecbert's age, with the stress he'd recently been under, no one would question his heart giving out.

He shrugged and it was a pitiful gesture. "I get to choose the manner of my death. It will not be some pagan ritual." At that, Dagny smiled. Bjorn had come through after all.

"What will you choose?" she asked. He sighed and told her. "That is a good way. It will be peaceful." It was a lie; slitting your wrists would be painful for a long time before it became serene.

"Better than in battle? As your people claim is the ideal way to die."

Dagny shook her head. "I see no point in hungering for violence or pain."

"Then you are no Viking," he said and it wasn't in disdain. It sounded more like a compliment and to Dagny, whose own mind had been overwhelmed with thoughts like this since entering Wessex, it was a genuine relief. But Ecbert was a Saxon and his opinion shouldn't matter at all.

That night, she was still thinking about it. She was drowsing between Ivar and Hvitserk, thin blankets and cloaks the only thing between them and the floor of the Saxon palace. Across the room, Sigurd and Ubbe were keeping watch and Dagny suddenly remembered seeing Sigurd's chest stained with blood before the battle at Repton.

"Why are you awake?" Ivar asked and it made her flinch. She'd been so sure he was asleep. Hvitserk groaned on her other side and turned away from them.

"I am just thinking about things," she replied, knowing that none of those things mattered. Ecbert would be dead on the morrow, slain by his own hand. The land grant had been drawn up in writing before all of the brothers, regardless of the fact that they couldn't read it. There would be a celebration and a feast and people who wanted to start the settlement would be able to. Ubbe was right. If she never wanted to raid again, she didn't have to.

Ivar reached over and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers light against her cheek. "Ecbert should be dead at my hand," he said, turning something that should have been sweet into malice. But then, there was little difference between the two to Ivar.

"He will die anyway," she responded.

"You don't want him to die," he teased, "because he told you those scrolls were written by Athelstan."

"You are making fun of me." The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Sigurd narrowed his eyes at them from his vantage point in the corner, as if sure the only thing they could be talking about was him. Tensions between him and Ivar were running high and Ivar's mood about killing Ecbert had not helped.

"Yes, I am. I do not understand your fascination with some Christian priest and some old vellum that he supposedly painted. You can't read the scrolls and they are sure to be worthless anyway. Why do you want them?"

"One day I might be able to read them." He scoffed, not so much at the thought of Dagny being able to read as at the idea that the scrolls might have anything in them worth knowing about. She'd known he wouldn't understand it but at least he had not begrudged her keeping them. Other raiders had their spoils. Even now, Hvitserk was asleep beside her with the jewel-laden crucifix next to him. Those scrolls were no different. "At any rate, Ecbert will be dead. Does the manner in which it happens matter so much to you?"

"When Bjorn has taken what I deserve, then yes, it does." He sighed and pulled away, lying on his back. "But he will leave after the celebration. He has no desire to stay in England. All he cares about is finding his way back to the Mediterranean."

"Halfdan will go with him," she said, propping herself up on an elbow and looking down at him. Ivar suddenly smiled.

"And what of you? What do you want to do now that my father's death is avenged?"

"I want to see the settlement started." Ivar groaned and rolled his eyes.

"You are soft, Dagny," he replied but it was said to be playful and she didn't think there was any spite hidden behind the words. "You are not Ubbe. You were made for more than farming. You are a shieldmaiden now and I want you at my side."

"Would you want me at your side even if I wasn't one?"

He furrowed his brow. "I would want you with me even if you were still a slave, even if all I ever did was watch you weave flower crowns and have you mend my pretended injuries."

Dagny smiled a half-moon smile and kissed him beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Saxon palace. She put her head against his shoulder and thought that she could endure more raiding, if that was what it cost to be with Ivar. The brothers could all go their separate ways tomorrow but she would be all right if she was still at Ivar's side.

It was cold in that corridor, almost like the doors and windows were hanging open, but Dagny thought nothing of it. Few things were capable of holding her attention when Ivar ran his fingers over the back of her neck.

* * *

Dagny was drinking, more in honor of Ecbert and Helga than in honor of technically conquering Wessex. She'd known having Tanaruz come with them was a poor idea but she hadn't thought the girl would ever bring herself to harm Helga, even unstable as she was. But she'd killed her and then herself amidst the confusion of entering the city. Dagny believed it was probably premeditated. But she could not imagine Floki's pain. She hadn't seen him since Hvitserk killed the priest.

Harald and Halfdan were on either side of her and they were both laughing at some joke she hadn't managed to catch. In front of her, on the risen platform, was the feasting table of the sons of Ragnar. Ivar had wanted her to sit with them but Dagny felt strange about it, like she would be claiming a legacy she had no right to. Besides, the raiders already looked at her like she was an enigma. Some wouldn't even meet her eye. She didn't want to encourage that. After all, she was really no different from them. In some ways, she was much less.

"Do you want a farm, Dagny?" Harald asked, biting into a piece of bread.

"Yes, I do," she replied. She began peeling an apple, watching its shiny red peel curl onto her plate.

"You'll need a husband then," said Halfdan as he quirked a brow. "And Ivar is no farmer. Now Hvitserk might consider it. He used to speak of you often when we were in Spain."

She groaned. "Hvitserk and I are friends. In fact, I think that's all we've ever been." Halfdan tilted his head in scrutiny and she scoffed. "You don't need a husband to have a farm. I am accustomed to hard work. But it will be ages before I can have it. Ivar wants to keep raiding England."

"And you will just do as he says? You are a free woman." Halfdan raised his goblet to his lips and winked at her. Harald grinned on her other side. Still, free as she was, she thought she'd be lost without Ivar.

Bjorn's horn suddenly rang out and all the noise stopped. Sigurd even relinquished his lute and came back to the table. Ivar sat at the other end, a disillusioned and bored prince. He was not interested in whatever his eldest brother had to say. Hvitserk and Ubbe, on the other hand, looked to Bjorn expectantly.

"Friends, no one will ever be able to doubt what we have achieved; an army of all our peoples and we have defeated not one but two English kingdoms," Bjorn said loudly and everyone cheered in agreement. "For us, the sons of Ragnar, our first duty was to avenge our father's death and that, we have done. But we have also achieved my father's dream. We have the legal right to land and to farm here. It is up to all of you to use this opportunity, to send over new settlers and young families. Unfortunately, I will not be here to see this new settlement grow and thrive. My fate will take me elsewhere. I always knew I had to return to explore the Mediterranean Sea and now I feel free to follow my destiny." Dagny wasn't surprised by that nor, she assumed, was Ivar, by the way rolled his eyes. "But my brothers will be here for you!"

He raised a goblet and said, "Skol!" Everyone raised theirs in turn. Dagny took a long drink from her cup, sensing that Ivar would not let the implication that he might become a peaceful farmer stand.

"I will be here but not to settle down and plow," Ivar called, turning in his chair and gripping the arms. He looked vaguely sick. "Who wants to be a farmer now? We have a great army and we should use it. There are many other places that I want to attack and raid. And those of you who feel like I do, you should come with me and those of you who don't, ask yourself, who can stand in our way now?" Cheers went up throughout the courtyard. Even Harald and Halfdan were yelling so Dagny felt that she should too. Ubbe was stoic at Ivar's side on the platform and he was looking at her, shaking his head. _Don't do this for him,_ that gesture said and Dagny knew he was right.

Finally, Ubbe began to smile sardonically and even from this distance, she could hear him saying, "You cannot lead the army, Ivar."

"I don't want to, Ubbe," Ivar snapped. The courtyard was still quiet so their conversation became incredibly easy to hear. "All I'm saying is that for those who are still _brave_ enough to raid and find adventure, then I will lead them. You can put on an apron and settle down if you want to." Ivar patted him on the leg and Ubbe scoffed.

"It will take a great man, Ivar. To stake a claim here. Defend it," said Hvitserk. Dagny was frankly surprised that he decided to take a side in the debate. Somewhat ashamedly, she presumed Ubbe had been speaking to him.

"Ah, that does not sound like yourself, dear brother. The Hvitserk I know, he loves to raid. He's a real Viking. What you just said, that is not the Viking way. That is Ubbe's way and I see he has been pouring his poison into yours and Dagny's ears."

She subtly shook her head at Ivar. Beside him, Ubbe brought a knife down onto the table. Dagny looked to Hvitserk, who was pulling meat off the bone and tossing it in his mouth. He shrugged at her. This was nothing new. It was the same argument in a new form; Ivar couldn't lead the army but believed he deserved it.

"Is this every day with them?" Harald asked, chuckling and drinking his ale. Dagny would have said yes if this didn't already feel far tenser than any normal argument between them.

"Don't do this, Ivar," said Sigurd. "We are all the sons of Ragnar. We have to stick together."

"Frankly, dear Sigurd, I don't care what you say. The truth is I wouldn't even piss down your throat even if your lungs were on fire," Ivar said, smirking and pouring out his goblet. Harald kept laughing and Halfdan shook his head but Dagny felt something within her go cold.

"Well, maybe that's because you're not really a man. Are you, Boneless?" Sigurd smirked but Ivar paled, in embarrassment and in rage. The crowd stayed silent but Dagny saw that more than a few around her wanted to laugh.

"You can prove that claim wrong, can't you?" Halfdan muttered, nudging her with his arm. Indeed, she could but Ivar wouldn't thank her for saying anything. It might even make things worse.

"Don't bring me into this," Dagny said and drank from her goblet. At the princes' feasting table, Ubbe was pretending to relax and Hvitserk didn't seem to care at all. He just kept on eating. But Ivar and Sigurd appeared likely to start one of their famous fights.

"So who's going to stay and farm?" Bjorn asked, nicely changing the subject in Dagny's opinion.

"I would like to stay but I have other plans," said Harald, standing.

Halfdan seemed vaguely hurt by that but quickly smiled. He also stood and said, "As for me, I want to go with Bjorn. I want to see the Mediterranean."

Bjorn hopped over the feasting table and came down to embrace Halfdan. "Then it seems the only thing that really kept the sons of Ragnar together was the death of their father," he said, turning back to the platform, eyes narrowed. Dagny's fingers began to dig into the table.

"Poor Bjorn!" said Ivar, his grip so tight on his chair's arms that his knuckles were turning white. "It is you who doesn't want to keep the army together. It is you who wants to go away to sunny places! Everyone else can follow me."

Sigurd slammed a hand down on the table, startling everyone. "I do not want to follow you, Ivar. You are crazy. You have the mind of a child," he said, gesturing wildly. Bjorn looked down at Dagny and rolled his eyes. On another day, she might have done the same but all of a sudden, she felt like this was going to go badly. Worse than any fight they'd had before and there had been many that ended with Ivar on the floor or Sigurd with an axe at his throat.

"And all you do is play music, Sigurd," Ivar finally said, his voice a hiss.

"I'm just as much a son of Ragnar as you are."

"I'm not so sure," Ivar said slyly, a barely disguised grin making its way onto his face. "As far as I remember, Ragnar didn't play the lute and he certainly didn't offer his ass to other men."

The raiders laughed and oohed but Dagny didn't register it because Sigurd's eyes slid to her, cold as a snake. Hurt was on his face, so slight it felt like she might have imagined it. Time seemed to slow, sluggish enough that she felt stuck and unsure of what to do. Sigurd clearly thought that when she was speaking with Ivar in the night, they were talking about him. Perhaps he even believed it was a regular source of conversation for them but Dagny had never said anything. She'd promised Sigurd she wouldn't and her word was good. No one wanted to be seen as an oath breaker.

Dagny stood and pushed away from the table when she realized what was coming. Harald, Halfdan, and Bjorn looked alarmed by the noise of the bench scraping backwards. The brothers on the dais registered it only slightly, Ivar so consumed by rage that he couldn't see anything but Sigurd at the end of the table.

"Sigurd-" she started, voice so low that only Bjorn cocked his head. But Sigurd was already smiling, his eyes glistening in the light like a wounded animal about to make a final strike, and she thought of all the times she'd trained with him, of the way he'd sewed the gash on her leg shut, of saving his life on the battlefield at Repton. Suddenly, none of that mattered.

"At least I do not love a woman who spends most of her time wishing she was bedding my brother!" Sigurd exclaimed and laughed. Dagny sucked in a breath so sharply she almost choked.

"Shut your mouth!" Ivar screamed and his hand came down on the edge of the table hard enough to bruise.

"That's enough!" called Bjorn but he wrapped his hand around Dagny's forearm, sensing she was about to make her way to the platform. He shook his head down at her, even as she tried to wrench free. "This is all slander!"

"Oh no, it isn't," Sigurd replied, almost calmly. He was still smirking. "It's all very true, isn't it, Dagny?" Dagny found herself shaking her head, going pale, because it wasn't true. It wasn't. Her heart was pounding so fast that she heard it in her ears, felt the blood pumping in her veins. "Isn't it, _Ubbe?_ "

Hvitserk dropped the knife he'd been holding onto his plate and gaped at Sigurd. Dagny had the thought belatedly that his shock had nothing to do with Ubbe's name being said but was more at Sigurd's exposing it.

"Sigurd, stop this!" Dagny begged. "What is wrong with you?"

"Come now, Dagny, surely you knew when you spent all those days and nights in the forest _training_ with Ubbe that the truth would out. It isn't your fault, most women fall prey to his charms. It's a curse, isn't it, Ubbe?" Ubbe looked likely to be sick, a sweat breaking out on his brow. "I wish I could say it only happened once but how many times was it, Dagny? Too many to count!"

Halfdan looked around Bjorn to raise an eyebrow at her. Beside him, Harald looked extremely disappointed and if matters were left up to him, Dagny worried she'd die for it.

Ivar was shaking and he suddenly looked up from under his hooded eyebrows. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Dagny tried to pull from Bjorn's grasp again but he leaned closer and said, "If I let you go up there, you could be killed."

"What of Sigurd?" she replied.

"Would you like to know why, Ivar?" Sigurd said, raising a goblet to his lips. Ivar tensed in response, the set of his shoulders looking like he was ready to go to war.

"Do not listen to him, Ivar," Ubbe murmured. But he seemed to recognize that this was about to go badly. Dagny didn't understand why no one did anything. The warriors just decided to watch and listen to the humiliation of everyone involved. It was clear to her that Sigurd's life was in danger but no one else seemed to recognize it. Even Hvitserk was still looking between them, ready more for a show than an escalation to violence.

"Don't speak to me," Ivar hissed.

"He'll kill Sigurd," Dagny whispered but Bjorn still only shook his head.

"Dagny knew what you'd done to Margrethe," Sigurd continued. "That you'd almost killed the poor girl and threatened her with silence. So she was thinking about preserving her life for the day you came calling when she first crawled into Ubbe's bed. She didn't want you to be disappointed. She's scared of you! Everyone is! It must be hard for you now that your mommy's dead, knowing that she's the only one who ever truly loved you." He took a long drink from his goblet, feeling triumphant.

Dagny began to feel weak, her muscles so taut that she thought she might be ill.

Ivar let out a breath through his clenched teeth, the sound verging on a growl.

"Ivar," said Ubbe, trying to be calm but failing. "Ivar!"

It happened so quickly that Dagny barely saw it. Ivar reached down beside him, took hold of an axe, and threw it across the table, yelling. It caught Sigurd squarely in his chest. The goblet dropped from his hand, wine spattering the wooden platform. Hvitserk jerked back and Ubbe could only stare at Sigurd, aghast. Dagny didn't think anyone in the crowd could move.

Remarkably, Sigurd was still standing. Blood was running down his blue tunic. His skin was already going white. She remembered that vision before the battle and knew that it was no hallucination. It was finally coming true.

Sigurd wrenched the axe blade from his chest and angled it at Ivar, whose face had totally leached of color. At once, Ivar appeared a child, realizing that he'd done something terribly wrong. Sigurd stumbled towards him, axe held out, but at last, gave in. He collapsed.

The sound his body made against the wood imprinted itself on Dagny's mind. She shuddered.

"Dagny!" Hvitserk yelled as he and Ubbe came from behind the table to reach Sigurd. Ivar was stricken, frozen in his chair. "Dagny!"

Bjorn dropped his hand and she ran to the dais. Hvitserk pulled her up so hurriedly that she was already on her knees beside Sigurd. "Turn him over," she said, voice clear. This was a situation she knew how to deal with. She needed to be composed or else it would continue to spiral out of control. Many men had survived a wound of this nature. But when Hvitserk and Ubbe got him on his back, he coughed and blood bubbled from his mouth. The axe blade had hit something vital. He wouldn't recover.

"What can I-" Ubbe began.

"I need you to stand back. Don't crowd him," she said, knowing it was futile. She put an arm out and Ubbe flinched away, as if her touch might place a curse on him. Perhaps it already had. "Hvitserk, put pressure on it."

Hvitserk fumbled with that, his hands shaking so violently that Dagny had to place them on the wound. Blood pumped out over his fingers, so quickly that she and Hvitserk's hands turned red. She pulled back, looked at her palms, barely registering how bad it truly was.

Ivar looked on from his vantage point at the end of the table. He still appeared frozen in shock.

"Sigurd," Dagny murmured, grabbing his hand. His skin was already cold. "Sigurd, come on, fight." His eyes were open and he didn't blink. She bent down and put her head to his chest, his blood warm against her cheek. The only sound she heard was her own ragged breathing. "He's dead."

Hvitserk looked over, his hands still pressing hard on Sigurd's chest. Ubbe stood and walked away, the expression on his face one of utter wrath. Dagny looked up at Ivar and shook her head. "He's dead," she said again, unsure if he'd heard. But he was only looking between her and Sigurd, at his blood on her face and hands, at the split in Sigurd's pupil that had given him his name. His eyes were wide and he was holding tight to the arms of his chair but he said nothing. What was there to be said? He'd killed his own brother. Distantly, as if through a fog, Dagny knew it was no one's fault but her own. But it was difficult to place blame when Sigurd's body was before her, already cold and pale.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey guys! I hope that you've had a great holiday season and that you are ready for the New Year. I'm making the same resolution that I failed at this year and that's to update this once a month. I'm planning on sticking to it in 2019. Thank you so much for all of the reviews, follows, and faves. A review actually inspired me to write this chapter from the perspective of Hvitserk so thanks for that and all of your kind words! How are you guys enjoying the new season? Sorry that not a lot happens this chapter but I felt it was getting long. See you soon!**

The Saxon church was dark and cold, illuminated only by the dim light of a full moon. Hvitserk did not care for the cathedral with its high rafters and colored glass. But it was where Dagny had retreated after cleaning Sigurd's body, after Ivar buried his face in her chest, crying with remorse over what he'd done. Hvitserk had been there for it all, worried that if he left Dagny on her own, something ill would be befall her.

Ivar had come to her quickly, immediately after Hvitserk pulled her away from the body and helped her clean up. He'd stood in the corner of the room, watching warily, waiting for Ivar to deliver a blow that never came. Hvitserk never really believed that Ivar would intentionally harm Dagny but then, he had never exactly believed that Ivar and Sigurd's rivalry would end in death. He couldn't be certain what would happen. So he stayed.

"I didn't mean to kill him," Ivar had murmured to her, eyes glistening. It was as if he didn't even realize that Hvitserk was there. "Everyone will think I intended it but I did not mean to kill him."

"I know you didn't," she'd responded and he had wrapped his arms around her waist, his face against her chest, crying. Dagny didn't seem to register what Ivar had said or the pain he was evidently feeling. It took an inordinately long time for her to place a hand against his shoulder and draw him closer, almost like she too was expecting that blow.

Now, walking through the nave of the dark church, Hvitserk wondered if she believed Ivar. He could say what he wished but no one could overlook the violence and malevolence that had been ever present in Ivar's relationship with Sigurd. And few would ever doubt that Sigurd's words were true.

Dagny was sitting on one of the remaining benches, staring at the broken altar in front of her, trying to figure it out. She probably wanted to be alone, Hvitserk thought. Why wouldn't you want to be when you had been humiliated in front of everyone you knew and respected? But there was no longer any lock on the cathedral's massive doors and men who were loyal to Ivar had seen her come in. Men who had laughed when they saw Hvitserk follow her.

She turned and he took a shaky breath. He couldn't remember ever seeing Dagny cry, not when they were children, not when she was yelled at or chastised, not when she'd been given a beating by the old kitchen thrall for somehow messing up their dinner. If she started now, he wouldn't have any idea of what to do because in truth, what could he say that would make things better? No one came to Hvitserk for comfort. No one came to Hvitserk for much of anything at all. But Dagny's dark eyes were clear and in the light of the moon, she looked otherworldly, pale and taut as the bowstring she favored. She let out a breath of relief when she saw it was him.

Hvitserk sat beside her on the pew, still not understanding the way the altar had enthralled Dagny, but he didn't ask. He didn't tell her that it wasn't her fault or that she shouldn't regret anything or that she should consider another place to sleep. He didn't speak at all and nor did she. It made Hvitserk think of all the times in the forest that he'd sat beside Dagny under thick tree branches and they'd eat together or he would help her polish their training weapons or watch her embroider, mostly in silence. Sometimes they'd just sit together and do nothing at all. They were quiet, peaceful times and Hvitserk had always enjoyed them because it never felt like they should be talking. It just felt nice. Against all odds, against the cold and the dark and the damp, this felt nice too.

Beside him, Dagny's shoulders shuddered and he wondered if this was it, if she was finally breaking down. He put his arm out, hovering behind Dagny for a long while before he actually committed to the gesture. She stiffened slightly before turning into him. She was still shaking as her hands gripped the wings of his shoulders, as she took ragged breath after ragged breath.

"It's all right," he murmured finally, smoothing her hair down, feeling the unnatural cold of her skin.

"I knew it was coming," she whispered desperately. Still, she did not cry. "I saw it and I did nothing."

"There was nothing you could have done," he said. Dagny nodded against his shoulder but she didn't believe him. How could she? Sigurd was dead and it appeared to be over something that she had done.

Sigurd's ship burial was a solemn affair and it was the first time Hvitserk had seen Ubbe since the night before. Dagny stood behind Ivar, her face a mask. The boy before her looked just that, a boy, not a war leader or ruler. Just the petulant child Sigurd had decried him as. People were already talking, whispering heatedly behind their hands as Ubbe placed Sigurd's sword in the ship and grimaced at Ivar. Dagny did not look at Ubbe. Her eyes were on Sigurd's pale face, her lips drawn tight. Hvitserk didn't need her to say it. He knew she felt responsible for his death and already, that was much of what the army murmured.

Ivar reached for her, blue eyes burning, and Dagny hesitated for the briefest moment before placing her hand in his. It was quiet around Sigurd's body but it was a gesture that sounded loud. Hvitserk did not know whether to feel relieved or worried that Ivar apparently had no intention of tossing Dagny to the wayside.

Afterwards, the brothers and Dagny retreated into a Saxon house. There was food on the table but it was untouched. Bjorn stood, seemingly worried to sit down and get locked in conversation. Dagny's hands were shaking, so badly, in fact, that she hid them beneath the table.

Hvitserk placed his hand on hers to stop the trembling and gave her a weak smile. The bench across the table from them was empty. It was where Sigurd should be sitting, mean and sarcastic. Hvitserk hadn't had the heart to sit there when they came in from his ship burial. At least, he told himself it was for that reason that he'd sat beside her and not just to put an obstacle between her and Ivar.

Ivar and Ubbe were at the heads of the table and the symmetry of it wasn't lost on anyone in the room. Both of them looked ill, their skin the pallor of a fevered sickness that sapped all strength. But beside him, Dagny looked worse, curling in on herself like she was recovering from a physical blow.

"I know what you're all thinking," Ivar said finally, his voice barely understandable above the pouring rain outside. He kept his gaze on the table and Hvitserk was unsure if that was because of his shame or because he feared his own rage. "But it isn't true. I didn't mean to kill him. He made me do it."

Bjorn scoffed and out of the corner of his eye, Hvitserk caught Ubbe's stoic façade beginning to crumble. Dagny's fingers tightened around his own. She didn't even seem aware of it.

"He taunted me," Ivar continued, finally looking up. "He made fun of me. What was I supposed to do? What kind of a man tells lies about his own brother?"

"And what lies did he tell?" Hvitserk asked drily. He thought of Sigurd on the dais, his blood staining the wood red, of Dagny pale in the moonlight in a Saxon church, sitting up all night rather than sleeping.

"You know that as well as I do, Hvitserk. You all know it." For the first time, Ivar dragged his eyes to Dagny, eyes so icy blue that they chilled Hvitserk in a way they never had before. Taking her hand at Sigurd's funeral was, perhaps, nothing but show. Ivar had been humiliated far worse than Dagny or Sigurd and he was not like to let anyone forget it.

"He said you weren't a real man," Ubbe said, his voice raspy from exhaustion. Hvitserk cocked his head at that but Ubbe did not return his gaze. This was not the true issue and nothing would be solved until it was addressed. Still, Hvitserk would never be the one to bring it up. Why draw ire that he hadn't earned?

"And what would you have done if he had said that to you, Ubbe?" Ivar snarled.

"It does not matter," Dagny finally said. Hvitserk sat up straighter and Bjorn looked on, wary. "He said that to rile you but it wasn't true. It isn't true."

"I did not see you stand for me, Dagny," Ivar replied, his tone as cold as his gaze.

"Because it was a meaningless insult. Even if correct, what bearing does that have on your prowess as a warrior? What does it take away from your intelligence or your charm? Nothing." Ivar showed no reaction but the slightest shrug of his shoulders, as if he was finally relaxing. Hvitserk wondered if this was a normal conversation between them, if Dagny was forced to stroke his ego every time someone disagreed with him. Nothing about that would be enjoyable or sexy, except to Ivar. But it occurred to him that Dagny must like it or else she would never have bent to his whims. She wouldn't have listened to Ivar when he told her to cast Hvitserk aside. She wouldn't have averted her gaze every time Ubbe looked at her. Maybe she wouldn't even be on this raid. To be someone he felt he knew in his bones, someone he could predict and understand even as other things seemed insurmountable, sometimes Hvitserk thought he didn't know her at all.

"Dagny is right, Ivar," he said. "So it makes a poor excuse."

"You would all rather I sit back and be made a _fool_ of?" Ivar demanded. "I could not do it but still, I swear to all the gods that I never meant to kill him. Anger overcame me and I wasn't thinking. I am truly sorry."

Ivar met Dagny's eyes once more before crawling outside into the rain. Hvitserk felt nothing and thought it was a hollow apology, that Ivar had practiced the words enough to say them but not to impart emotion. But Dagny's face had gone pale, pale with guilt and grief, and Hvitserk put his arm around her shoulders again. He'd guided her to the ship burial like that. It was as if she was in a trance.

At long last, Dagny cast her eyes on Ubbe, at his hunched shoulders and clenched hands. Hvitserk thought he must have been mistaken to think guilt colored her face because she looked to Ubbe like she had since he'd returned from raid; like Ubbe was a king and she was a member of his guard, like any decision he made would be the right one and she'd follow it, even if she disagreed. Other people could fault her for that but Hvitserk wouldn't. If all your life, you'd taken orders and paid heed to others, you couldn't wake up one morning and decide you weren't going to do it anymore.

"You cannot leave Ivar in charge of the great army," Ubbe said, looking to Bjorn.

"That is your affair, Ubbe," Bjorn replied. "You're his big brother. You take charge. I told you, this is none of my concern."

"In what way is this not your concern?" asked Dagny. "You make your grand play to be the leader of the forces here and now that there is conflict, it suddenly no longer matters to you?"

Bjorn crossed the room and leaned on the table in front of her and Hvitserk. It was something that intimidated most people but Dagny did not flinch. "I am not interested in pettiness and games of envy and pride. My fate lies in the Mediterranean."

"These games of envy and pride have left your brother dead," Dagny responded and Bjorn's mouth hardened. Hvitserk went stiff because in a fight between them, he was unsure of whose side to take. It would be expected to go with Bjorn but Dagny… He couldn't let her be alone.

"I like you, Dagny," Bjorn said begrudgingly. "You're clever because you know when to be quiet and when to speak up. Now is a time to be silent because if you say the wrong thing, Sigurd will not be the only one left dead."

"Ivar wouldn't hurt Dagny," Ubbe said.

"How do you know that? Did you make sure to find that out before you slept with her?" Ubbe flinched as if slapped. Dagny, who had already begun to hear variations of the same thing said among the army, did not react. "We could use a healer."

"What?" she asked.

"In the Mediterranean, it is dangerous and we could always use a healer." Hvitserk was impressed because it meant Bjorn looked on her favorably. It was true enough that a healer of her skill was always needed wherever Bjorn was concerned and perhaps even truer that medicine was her gift. It wasn't a bad idea and in fact, would probably help her. But Dagny only looked back at the eldest Ragnarsson with her eyes wide.

"I can't go with you," she murmured. "I belong here, in England."

Bjorn leaned back and crossed his arms. "Think on it. We leave at dawn."

Hvitserk and Dagny were soon all that remained in the Saxon house, sitting closely side-by-side, watching the rain turn the courtyard to mud. Dagny slouched onto the table, propping her chin up with her hand. She hadn't slept at all overnight. She'd just kept her resolve and continued to watch the looted altar, like someone might finally decide to come back and steal what was left.

"I did this," she murmured and against the rain, her voice sounded weary with age. In a strange way, it echoed that of the seer.

"No, you didn't," he responded in a tone that brooked no argument. She tilted her head toward him, still resting her cheek in her hand.

"You don't understand. I all but swore Sigurd an oath. I never said a word about him to anyone and certainly not to Ivar." Suddenly both hands covered her face and again, Hvitserk feared that this was it. But she pushed her hair behind her ears and let out a tired sigh.

"No one could think that you had. Sigurd would have realized it if he hadn't acted so quickly." He placed a hand on her shoulder, the way he would his brothers, and something about the gesture seemed to help her relax. "Everyone knew that Sigurd liked men as well as women. It wasn't a secret, though he clearly wished it were one."

"You knew?" she asked lowly.

"Ubbe and I have known for years and you're familiar with Ivar. The way he used to crawl around so quietly and see and hear things that were none of his concern. He probably spent many days in the forest, looking through the trees at Sigurd's secret affairs." Dagny's face leeched of color, the way it had at the feast just yesterday.

"Yes," she replied, "I know just what you mean." She had to be pondering how many times Ivar must have spied on her in the woods, how he managed to learn everyone's schedule and follow whoever was the most interesting. It was how Ivar had spent much of his time in their youth and Hvitserk thought he'd become so exceptional at not being seen that he continued to do it now.

"So you see, you shouldn't be feeling this guilt about Sigurd. It had nothing to do with you." That wasn't strictly true but what was the point in telling her something she was already aware of?

"Some of it did." Hvitserk shook his head at her. This way of thinking, of continuing to turn it over and over in her mind, would be destructive. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, you can tell me anything." Hvitserk was used to being left aside, to not being included in plans or leadership, to somewhat being forgotten about. Dagny had never done any of those things to him but part of him feared she would start to do the same now. Before, she was a slave and Hvitserk was perhaps the only friend she had. Now she had Ubbe, Ivar, Halfdan, and in another life, she might have had Lagertha and Torvi.

She leaned closer and he felt he should do the same. What was it to be such a weight on her? He would have thought her affair with Ubbe was the biggest secret she had.

"I see things, Hvitserk," she murmured, voice incredibly low though they were the only ones in the room. "I saw Sigurd's chest covered in blood before Repton, his armor rusting with it. I saw that and didn't warn him. I did nothing, nothing but lie to myself about it." She sucked in a breath that seemed to pain her and her eyes took on the slightest sheen. Hvitserk believed her and part of him was not surprised. He'd known it down deep, the same way he innately understood the phases of the moon or the stories of the gods. Hvitserk himself had seen the Allfather atop the craggy cliffs of Gibraltar, heralding Ragnar's death. And his mother had always favored Dagny, favored her above all other slaves.

"I have seen things in battle as well, things that weren't there," he said, despite knowing she was telling the truth. "It's not unusual. Adrenaline, fear, they cause you to hallucinate. It happens to even the most battle-hardened warriors."

Dagny looked down at the table, as if struck, and it was difficult to ignore the pain on her face, to look past the way she had obviously decided to trust him with this. But Hvitserk had only the thought of protecting her, of keeping it from people who would not understand. There were men in this army, men in his family, who would condemn her for it. Men who would see her sequestered in the woods, good for nothing but curses and foretellings, growing old as the völva she was. Being thought of as a seer made for a lonely life, one where you were continually used by others for their own purposes, and Hvitserk thought Dagny had been used enough.

"Your mother warned me not to tell you, not to tell anyone but Ivar. It was the last thing she said to me," Dagny muttered. Hvitserk wondered how long Aslaug had known, if she'd seen it the day she bought Dagny at the market. He wondered why Dagny had chosen to trust him at all.

"Even if you did see something, why would you have reason to believe it would come true? There was no point in warning Sigurd about something that may not come to pass."

She gulped and Hvitserk thought the way the line of her throat caught the light did indeed make her look like a witch. A witch who could grant your deepest desires or call monsters from down below the waves to tear your longships apart. "Because I have never seen anything that did not take place."

 _And what do you see, Dagny, when you look at my brothers?_ he thought. _What do you see when you look at me?_

"That sounds like a burden but it still does not mean you are at fault," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dagny looking at him like he'd had every opportunity to abandon a sinking ship and yet stayed aboard anyway. "I believe you and I'm honored that you'd trust me to know this but my mother was right. You can't let anyone else find out what you can do."

"Yes," she agreed, "opinions of me are already poor and they can only be growing worse now that they know of Ubbe and I." _Growing worse?_ he thought. No one would even think to care about it but Ivar and perhaps Harald. Of course, there would be teasing and jokes but what should have been the worry was whether people honestly wanted to place the blame for getting Sigurd killed at her feet.

"It wouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone close to you," he said without thinking. Dagny turned back to him, shoulders stiff. The fingers of one hand were digging into the wood of the table.

"You knew?" she asked, as if either one of them had ever bothered to hide that something had transpired between them. It was more than offered freedom and swearing an oath of fealty, which Dagny had all but done to Ubbe. It was a question of why Ubbe thought to free her in the first place, when Hvitserk had wanted to do it for years and been stalled. It was in Ubbe crossing the battlefield at Repton to slay a man who had knocked Dagny into the mud while Hvitserk was held back by an onslaught of Saxons; something that most men wouldn't have thought to do in the midst of fighting for a friend or even a lover. And most of it all, it was how Dagny seemed tuned to Ubbe's every move. She knew where he was at all times, would perk up at the sound of his voice coming from across a room, would turn almost imperceptibly towards him when he sat down beside her. If this was friendship, it seemed something worse than love.

"Dagny," he started, shaking his head, "if anyone bothered to pay attention, they knew."

She balled her hands into fists. "How?"

"You joke with him when you've always been so serious," Hvitserk responded and his tone must have sounded hurt because she started to look vaguely sick. "Even when you disagree, you follow his decisions. Your face lights up when you talk to him."

"He married Margrethe," she said quickly, as if embarrassed.

"Would he have done that if you'd told him not to?"

Dagny suddenly seemed far away, contemplating things that must have taken place months and months ago. Had Ubbe given her an ultimatum and demanded she make a decision? That didn't seem like Ubbe at all. Or had he married Margrethe because the poor girl loved him and he'd decided to put whatever was between him and Dagny aside? Either way, he'd acted without taking Hvitserk's feelings into account. Either way, it was sad.

"I objected it the moment he told me because Margrethe had betrayed him before. But he didn't listen," she said. _He would have listened,_ Hvitserk thought, _if you'd cast Ivar aside, if your objection to it had come with kissing beneath the bowers of the forest and tracing patterns on his skin with your fingers._ Ubbe was harder to figure out than Dagny had ever been but there was something in his gait now that was different, something that had changed while Hvitserk had been on raid in the Mediterranean. "But none of that matters now. He _is_ married and nothing that passed between us meant anything serious. All we've ever been is friends and what happened was a favor he did me."

Hvitserk arched a brow and it all came out tumbling out of her mouth. The line on Margrethe's throat where Ivar had tried to kill her for disappointing him, Ivar calling on Dagny the night before he left with their father, asking Ubbe to teach her so what happened to Margrethe would not be repeated, how different it was between them automatically, Dagny's witness of their mother's death, the injury to her leg, denying the freedom offered her by Lagertha, the days that bled into months with Ubbe in the forest.

It was very bad indeed. Once or twice, even multiple times, could have been blamed on the tragedy of Aslaug's murder, Dagny's first kill, believing she'd never walk without a limp again. But the first time, the time that had marked Dagny and Ubbe's affair as special, had happened long before that. If Ivar wanted to be angry, that is what would enrage him most of all and Hvitserk could not blame him for it. Ivar was clever and quick and no doubt, he'd picked up on the changes in Ubbe and Dagny immediately. It wouldn't be that Dagny asked or even that it had happened when emotions were high, it would be that Ubbe agreed to it. It would be that the brother who had encouraged him to pursue her had done the same.

"Ubbe has been kind to me and I owe him my life many times over. He is as good as a blood brother to me. I would swear an oath to him or pledge him my sword if he asked. But he does not love me. I do not love him, not in that way." But her eyes looked wistful, like just outside the doors of the Saxon manor was the meadow in the forest and she could see herself crowned with flowers and Ubbe's tunic open at the neck. But she sobered quickly, as the rain outside began to turn to snow. Hvitserk had had many a summer lover before and so he knew the sting she must have felt when it was done, when the flowers wilted and the sun became covered by clouds, when dark fell early and the frost crept up the trees.

"Well, there was something more than friendship. Otherwise, Ivar would not care nearly as much," Hvitserk said, knowing the fact that Sigurd had said it all publically was what had gotten him killed. It was not so much that it had happened as it was that now the entire army could think Ivar, someone they already inherently looked down on, had been cuckolded. Hvitserk could not look into the future as Dagny apparently could but he did not need to. Perhaps they could try to patch things over but what was between Dagny and Ivar would die a slow death, full of pain for the both of them. And when it was done, Hvitserk would still be there, unsure of whose side to take.

"But if it's gone now, what does it matter?" she asked, like she really believed the words.

"To Ivar, it will matter that he was embarrassed before the army like that and because men will take Sigurd at his word. They will think you too frightened to oppose Ivar, they will think Ubbe is a coward for letting you stay with him, they will think you are still a slave in thrall to your masters."

Dagny nodded, having been thinking along the same lines. Hvitserk didn't usually have the opportunity to voice his opinion so clearly, let alone have it be heard. "That's why I need to speak with Ivar now, when I have the courage to do it."

Hvitserk's stomach tightened. "Is that such a good idea? You know his temper, wait for it to cool."

"You think he'll hurt me?" It was a genuine question. She didn't sound like she doubted it to be true, like she normally would, and Hvitserk knew then that things were changing. Dagny would no longer be able to look at Ivar the way she used to, full of hope and support, as if looking on beauty for the first time. Now she would see him unmasked, the way Hvitserk had always seen him. Beneath good looks and manipulation and a mind sharper than the finest blade, Ivar was cruel. He hadn't killed Sigurd because of the words he'd spoken. He'd done it because he wanted to. He hadn't forced Dagny to give up Hvitserk because of some phantom pain he felt at her having desires that didn't pertain to him. He'd done it to control her. And Dagny had never once looked past his pretty eyes and smooth skin or the fire in her blood he could make her feel. Sigurd's death would usher in a new age, one where Ivar would no longer have to conceal his true self, and it would not be favorable to Dagny.

"I don't know what he'll do," Hvitserk said. "That is what worries me. Perhaps if you go in and apologize, whether you are sorry or not?" Neither Ubbe nor Dagny was sorry. If they were, apologies would have been made formally in front of the entire family. Ubbe had said little since Sigurd's death and nothing that so much as resembled guilt.

"No," Dagny replied sternly. "I cannot speak to him and act apologetic about it. I tried to tell him the truth many, many times and he turned away from it. I can do a multitude of things but I cannot lie and say it was a mistake, that guilt and despair are tearing me apart. They aren't! They never have! I'm sorry to have dragged Ubbe into it, I'm sorry I didn't tell Ivar the truth whether he wanted to hear it or not, but I'm not sorry to have done it. I will not lie and say that I am."

"I admire that, Dagny, but there comes a point when you must concede."

"No. If we are ever to repair what happened, it can't start with lying." That implied that there was something to repair in the first place, which Hvitserk very much doubted. But Ivar had a hold on Dagny and it was something he would never understand.

"He'll be angry," he murmured, thinking about that line on Margrethe's throat, how sweet she'd been before and how changed she'd been after. Dagny was taller and physically stronger and she could take a hit without backing down but Ivar knew everything about her. He knew every inch of her body and even confined to the ground, he would outmatch her. All it would take is for her to get too close, for her bad leg to get within reach, and Ivar would have her on the floor, his hands around her throat.

"Hvitserk, I can do this," she said and smiled a tight-lipped smile. She put her hand over his. "I promise you that I will not let my guard down. I won't let him touch me." The words sounded pained, as if she was setting out to sea and knew it would be a long while before she set sight on land again. He never would have thought Ivar's touch was something to be grieved.

"Then you will let me go with you," he said. Her eyes brightened and she looked happier then than she had in a while. As a slave, she'd always been easy to smile and laugh. It was one of the things he liked best about her.

"I saw the seer before coming on raid." His skin prickled. Hvitserk never went to the seer and he wanted to know what use there was in her seeing one. "He told me that you and I will be friends until death and that we will never turn on each other."

Hvitserk relaxed. "I have never known him to give prophecies that are good." Dagny appeared strained, like there was far more to it than that, so he asked, "What do you see when you look at me?"

"A good man," she replied. It could be much worse than that, he thought.

"What of Ivar?"

"A powerful man."

Hvitserk swallowed and asked, "And Ubbe?"

Dagny took a deep breath and said, "A king." Hvitserk didn't take it literally because it was the way she'd always looked at Ubbe, as if he were a lord, a gold-giver, but it still vaguely pained him. Would he never gain recognition or respect? Would he always live in the shadow of his brothers?

"Of the three," she said, her fingers suddenly gripping his shoulder, "I would rather be a good man."

Not long afterwards, they were walking to the Saxon palace, where Ivar had taken up residence. Hvitserk still felt uneasy about it, as if they were going to tease a bear rather than talk to his younger brother. Dagny stood straight as she walked beside him, willing everyone they passed by to know she wasn't scared. Of all the things Sigurd had said, that was the only one Hvitserk didn't believe. Dagny seemed frightened of nothing.

She stopped outside of the palace for a moment and looked up at it, admiring it. "I'll hate to leave this place," she said.

"You will come back one day, no doubt to deliberate with the king of Wessex on your farm," he responded and she smiled, a real smile that wasn't colored by Sigurd's quick death or what Ivar might say when she entered the corridor. It felt wrong to think but Hvitserk suddenly wondered if Ivar ever called her beautiful or if it was just always about him.

"I think you're right," she said but her expression suddenly dimmed, as if when she entered Wessex once again, Hvitserk wouldn't be with her. He felt cold at that because why would Dagny return without him or his brothers?

A man took Dagny by the arm suddenly. She reached back to strike him but something stayed her hand. This warrior was one who had been lounging by the palace, one who was likely working for Ivar. How he had bought men's loyalty, Hvitserk would never know.

"I am no prince," the man said, leering, "but my brothers and I like to share as well."

Dagny's eyes widened and wrenched her arm from his grasp. "Touch me again and I'll-"

"You'll do what? You are nothing more than a slave still following her old masters' orders."

Hvitserk grabbed the collar of his tunic and pulled him forward so quickly that Dagny gasped. "Do not ever speak your filth to her again. Dagny may have been a slave once but she is a slave no longer," Hvitserk said loudly enough for everyone in the courtyard to hear. Across the way, he saw Ubbe, dark circles under his eyes and a cup of ale in his hand. "Touch her again and you'll invoke Ivar's wrath."

The man snorted, as if there was nothing about Ivar to fear. As if Ivar would soon no longer have any use for Dagny.

When he turned back, tears had finally filled Dagny's eyes. Hvitserk couldn't discern whether that was because she'd finally reached her breaking point or if it was all to do with potentially losing Ivar. It was hard to lose your first love, Hvitserk knew, harder still to move on from it.

"Thank you," she said and harshly wiped her eyes. Hvitserk thought it was pitiful that after all this time, she still acted like every bit of kindness shown her was the first she'd known of it. But then, Hvitserk supposed as a slave, she wouldn't been very familiar with compassion. "I told you that you were a good man."

"It's a shame. I try so hard not to be," he replied. It was something he'd said to her before, a long time ago, and the corners of her mouth tucked up now. "You don't have to do this now, not today."

"If I don't do it now, I will never do it." She took a deep breath, ascended the steps to the palace and pushed open the door.


End file.
